


We Live As We Dream

by merrills



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, In one of the later chapters which will be marked in the AN, Leliana is a good friend, Mental Health Issues, Mild Angst with a happy ending, No Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC Spoilers, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Slow Burn, THE SLOWEST BURN TBH, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2019-11-16 10:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrills/pseuds/merrills
Summary: After the events at the Exalted Council, everybody is left to deal with the pieces. Ugly old habits resurface in some, long-standing yearnings are amplified, anxieties soar, and in others it brings out their best.Lavellan is struggling to find her path after the Inquisition ends. A long-standing crush of the now married Josephine's won't release her heart. Cullen's chronic health issues threaten to topple his Faith and commitment to become a better person. Leliana really ought to contact her love- but for some reason she doesn't.As this and more is happening, an era is ending. Whether they want it to or not.





	1. Our veins are busy but my heart's in atrophy

**Author's Note:**

> Set just after the Trespasser DLC. The world state should be explained in the first chapter, if something is unclear just ask.
> 
> This is not beta'ed. Should you be interested in a beta exchange, please leave a comment down below. 
> 
> Comments and constructive criticisms are welcome either way! I hope you enjoy!

The return to Skyhold after the events at the winter palace had been… very quiet.

There had been scarcely any talk aside from the necessary, even among the servants and the honor guard. The founders of the Inquisition and the ambassador were particularly quiet.

It took days to return home, although a home it wouldn’t be for much longer. For the Inquisition was to be disbanded, and the disbanding to be completed in two months’ time. That was the only thing the Inquisitor had said when leaving the Winter Palace behind. Since then, she had been quiet. Turned into herself like a snail.

Everything that had happened… was too much. For everybody. The shock had shaken loose different reactions in everybody.

Lady Montilyet and Sister Nightingale’s minds found no rest. Whirring about, they both rested their eyes towards everything that was to be anticipated, and started planning. Josephine on how to smooth the Inquisition’s path into non-existence, Leliana on how to build a network to confront the coming dangers. She needed to start taking her most trusted agents CLOSER under her wing, she decided.

Cassandra Pentaghast was still processing what she’d seen in the Crossroads and beyond the eluvians, but for once she did not feel like fighting. On the second day of their journey to Skyhold, she remembered that she need not be without direction. Rebuilding the seekers had been her heart’s desire, and now free of her commitment to the Inquisition, she may be able to follow it; she glanced on her friend, sitting listlessly on the horse next to hers.

A pang on sorrow shot through her breast; pity, guilt, and relief. She said a quick prayer to the Maker that He may heal her friend’s wounds, and her heart. Then she touched her left saddlebag, where Varric’s new edition of _Swords and Shields_ was tucked away; and the relief grew stronger. Whatever was to come, she had made friends. At the end of the day, that counted for something.

Cullen Rutherford was brooding. He was not angry, exactly, not disappointed, exactly, not happy, exactly, and maybe he was nothing at all. He was not content knowing that there was a distinct threat out there, and that the Inquisition was leaving Thedas to it. Of course he knew that Leliana and maybe even the Inquisitor would not let matters rest as they were, but… not having his own troops to support them made him feel uncomfortable. Not to say helpless.

“Cheer up, Commander,” quipped Leliana, once again accurately reading this thoughts. “You will finally be getting that vacation that we have been teasing you to go on.” And then she rode ahead.

He should be happy about being able to retire, he knew. But he could not find the ease in himself to feel it. Not yet, at least.

Varric,  Sera, and Dorian had taken off. After exchanging a few encouraging words with the Inquisitor and receiving a hug and whispered thanks, Varric set off back to Kirkwall, where work awaited him. Sera didn’t say much. She assured her friend that she never had trusted Solas to begin with and that the Red Jennies would be there for her should she call on them, and then she and her band of misfits left. Dorian reminded her of the communication crystal and squeezed her arm (the one that was still whole) before leaving to assume his seat in the Magisterium.

Cole joined the Inquisition party. He stayed a few paces behind everybody, together with Maryden. He felt this was a time when he would be able to help better in Skyhold than anywhere else. And Maryden wanted to document the last days of the Inquisition in song. 

Thom Rainier followed as well; he still had his ultimate mission of redemption in mind, though. He would not be without direction either. But for now… he stole a few glances at the Inquisitor, still dead-faced as a tranquil on the fifth day of the journey. An old urge to protect her rose in him. She had told him, once, that she despised being alone, couldn’t stand feeling lonely. It was clear as day to him now that in her grief, that was probably what she was feeling. But he did not know how to show support. Maybe this was something she had to go through on her own.

For a moment he considered coming to her tent at night, when maybe she wouldn’t be as unresponsive as she was now. The entire way, she had barely spoken a word, and looked at nothing and nobody except for her horse’s neck. Climbing onto it had been a challenge, practically one-armed as she now was. And Thom was sure that part of her lethargy was to be attributed to the fact that she would never be able to use a bow again.

The Iron Bull’s betrayal had cut deep. Deeper than any of them would admit. Nobody talked about it, and that’s how Thom knew it was bad. He had taken no pleasure in having to cut down somebody he had once considered a friend, someone he had held in high esteem. There were moments when he wondered if Bull would have ever come to regret betraying them, had he lived. The only conclusion he ever came to was that he would never know; The Iron Bull was a stranger to them, after all. And still laying, decaying, in Darveraad. Nobody had bothered to retrieve the corpse. The turncloak would rot in in peace.

The road got more insecure, there was more rubble. The hills got steeper. The temperatures dropped. On the afternoon of the sixth day, they arrived in Skyhold. Like always when he returned, Thom’s heart felt like it was ready to burst.

On his travels he had seen many beautiful things. Quiet meadows that were so pretty they seemed enchanted. Waves on the Storm Coast, majestic and tall as towers. A girl laughing in her mother’s lap in a tavern, both clapping along to a minstrel’s song. And every time, he felt like this. Filled to the rim, as though not one single additional drop of emotions had room inside him, lest he burst. Skyhold had that effect. From the very first time he saw it. Tall and grey, that feeling of serene security. A place where joy could grow uninterrupted.

On an impulse, Thom turned around to look at his companions. And he saw what he felt mirrored back to him. A bit of sorrow, but also… a wild, sublime love and wonder. His eyes fell on the Inquisitor, and he saw tears. She wiped them away with her sleeve when she saw him look and fixed her gaze back on the horse, but he could tell that it was not the same numbness that kept it there; she was awake. 

 

Cullen shifted a few pages around on his desk. Bent over his desk the way he was, in his heavy armor, his lower back had begun to cramp. His last instructions to the messengers and a few lieutenants had gone over smoothly and quicker than expected, which he considered a a blessing. Indeed, there was not much left to do.

Most of the tasks assigned to his troops nowadays were purely performative. There was a squabble between a Dalish clan and a minor lord, and the Inquisitor had a sent a unit there along with a negotiator to keep the peace. That was about it.

Now that the Inquisition was coming to an end, some Inquisition soldiers may think there was little point to continue working. But the commander hoped that they would thank them for having kept them in shape until they found their next employer.

Indeed most of what Cullen was doing these days was signing things. According to the Inquisitor’s request, Lady Josephine had hired a small army of scribes to copy the same document over and over again.

 

 _To whom it may concern,_  

_Hereby the Inquisition gives thanks to the honorable (blank space), who has rendered crucial services in a time where Thedas needed it most. (blank space) has fought valiantly on our side to defeat the Darkspawn Magister Corypheus, who killed Divine Justinia in 9:41 Dragon._

_The Inquisition can vouch that (blank space) is a dedicated soldier, a beloved comrade, and a valuable addition to any military establishment. We value (blank space)’s commitment to noble pursuits, strength of character, and willingness to do the right thing._

_Our support of (blank space) extends beyond the end of the Inquisition, and we owe (blank space) eternal thanks. May Thedas never forget the aid of those who gave the most._

 

_Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford                                      Inquisitor Lavellan_

 

Personally, Cullen thought the letter a bit obnoxious, even worrisome. Especially since it promised support over the extends of the Inquisition. He saw a potential for exploits there, on the cost of the quickly diminishing Inquisition. Especially its coffers.

But he comforted himself with the thought that probably most of his men and women were honorable people, and that the majority also had already been offered positions of varying degrees in both the Ferelden and Orlesian military, some even in Antiva. The rest had decided to go back home to their families and live out a quiet life with the sum they were paid as a compensation. Another thing the Inquisitor had insisted on.

He couldn’t imagine having to copy this very letter several thousand times, and doing it perfectly. But Cullen contented himself with simply signing where he was supposed to and then moving on to the next one. Having to do it for hours on end was the most boring thing he had to deal with since leaving the chantry for his first templar assignment. He might as well be mindlessly reiterating the Chant of Light before dawn in a clammy, dark cathedral.

Cullen took a seat when the cramps in his lower back became unbearable and lifted the half-dry quill to sign the next letter, when he halted. For a moment he considered if it truly made all that much sense to continue signing, seeing as he was the only one really making progress on it.

“Commander, just because the Inquisitor is… indisposed, doesn’t mean _we_ ought to be slacking on our duties,” he heard Josephine’s voice, as he had voiced the very same thought to her earlier that day. “There is much to do, and believe me, you will be surprised at how fast two months run by.” She had let out an impatient sigh. A sign of how busy and overworked she was, and that this discussion was over.

Nevertheless he couldn’t bring himself to keep doing this tedious task, at least for right now, and his thoughts ran on.

It was almost a week now since they were back, and already he could tell that the Inquisition was slowly dismantling, even without their efforts. First and foremost, there was a significant reduction of staff. In the time that they had been gone, all elves had vanished from Skyhold. Leliana confirmed this.

“They packed, all of them. Not a single personal possession from our elven people has been left behind. And some noble guests of ours complain of thefts, though that likely is only a cry for attention and scandal. A mere expression of their unfavorable biases,” she had explained at the war table.

Josephine had been surprised, possibly as the only one in the war council who was.

“I didn’t think Solas would move so fast,” she had said. And then shot a glance around her colleagues, and it stuck just a moment to long on the Inquisitor.

“I think it’s safe to assume that near every single elf in this castle was his agent,” she’d stated soberly. “And those who weren’t to begin with… well, his agents had three years to bring them over to their side. Or they belonged to the Qunari.”

Cullen had read in Josephine’s expression what she was thinking about. That maybe it had been a mistake to disband the Inquisition. How else were they, was anybody, going to move against an enemy so discreet, skilled and elusive?

“We can’t approach this the same way we did Corypheus, as effective as it was,” Lavellan answered the silent question. “Fen’Harel has an unknown amount of experience at evading enemies. Hundreds of years, for all we know. And, as Leliana rightfully pointed out, he knows our innermost workings. Us. Going openly against him and his agenda… would risk a mass slaughtering of elves all across Thedas. Even those who may oppose him, innocent ones. Look at the shemlen nobles already enthusiastically jumping to accuse the vanished elves of crimes that may or may not have happened. They’ll gladly take any excuse to harm us. I’m not going to risk the extinction of elves on behalf of fighting Solas. That would just drive the remaining ones surely in his open arms, and those would fight against us harder and sharper than they ordinarily would. It’s too dangerous. We need a different approach.” That had been the most she had talked since her speech at the Winter Palace, and the last time he’d seen her before she had disappeared in her quarters.

Cullen still didn’t know how to feel about it all. All he knew was that he had been relieved to not have run across any elves in Skyhold. He fought it, but he felt a familiar kind of resentment grow in his belly. A resentment that had hardened when he had heard the Inquisitor refer to humans as _shemlen_ , and elves as _us_. It was easy to forget that she was Dalish, sometimes.

Cullen didn’t have anything against elves, per say. But with the recent events… the complete and utter destruction of his world, everything he loved, was hard to forgive. A part of him had been disappointed to see all the elves gone from Skyhold. _How easily they turned._ But this spared him the headache of constantly seeing their weak frames and pointy ears, and thinking :“ _So when are you going to betray us? Are you loyal? Do you hate us? Are you thinking about our annihilation now?_ ”

It was unworthy of him, he knew. He needed to do better. Yet still, after a series of sweat-soaked nights and terrible pain, one day he was walking across the lower courtyard and an old, ugly part of him thought: what wouldn’t he give for an elf in front of him to properly shake to tears and hold responsible for the fear and impotence he felt. He’d stopped dead in his tracks and said a prayer of forgiveness to the Maker, shocked. He had thought that this kind of hatred laid behind him, all the way back in Kirkwall. That it found him here, where he felt safe, was unsettling. Disappointed in himself, he marched on.

Even thinking of it now he felt ashamed. He was not going to be that man again. But it was terrifying to think that all that stood between his good resolutions and his monstrous self was poor sleep and a little pain. He would need to do better. And spend more time praying, definitely.

Cullen dipped the quill into the bottle of ink, and then set off again to sign the remaining fifty letters of the day.

 


	2. The dark caress of someone else

The first thing Josephine did when she woke was sighing against her pillow. Sleeping had never been her favorite thing, not with so many more interesting things to do. She felt the act of falling asleep in the first place was tedious. And then laying in bed, unconscious for hours on end? Boring. And lately, her nights had not been restful anyways. 

In truth, Josephine liked having a lot to do, to always be busy. She did not have her father’s patience of sitting around for days on end in front of a canvas. Her time she much rather spent on being engaged in colorful social whirls and dangerous pleasantries. Something hands-on and dynamic where she was in charge..

Nevertheless, the past few weeks had been stressful. Her entire time with the Inquisition had been.

Never before did she work for an organization where so much was at stake. When Leliana signed her on, it had seem thrilling, like a challenge. But after Haven she had felt at a loss, like she had gotten much more than she had bargained for. She was proud of the work she had done, and so was her family. Seemingly insurmountable things had been accomplished, and to no small part thanks to Josephine’s dedication, effort, and wit. She had a lot to be proud of.

Yet still, the Exalted Council had been a lot to take. Seeing the organization that she had shed her heart’s blood for put on trial like that had been a difficult thing to deal with, but then to be left alone with the responsibility of it all while the Inquisitor had run off to prevent a Qunari invasion…

Oftentimes in her life had Josephine felt like she was just somebody that people dumped their messes on for her to sort out. As if other people’s recklessness placed the responsibilities they refused to take on her shoulders. It was a gruesome way to feel, so disheartening. Over the years, she had learned to cope with it. It had made her imaginative and resourceful, patient and silver-tongued. Not that it had been without cost.

More often than she could count, Josephine had to retreat to her quarters to cry tears that stemmed invariably from her frustration with other people. It didn’t happen as often anymore, but during the Exalted Council, she came dangerously close again. And for people to see her like that…

Aside from a few outliers (Sera), the Inquisitor and her friends had always been careful to show themselves in the best possible light. Mindful of what Josephine was trying to accomplish, the Inquisitor had shown herself courteous to nobles (though she disliked them), wise in her decision-making, and still respectful towards a religion she didn’t follow (and overall acknowledged as little as possible).  

To be left to deal with the future of the Inquisition on her own, to “handle” both Ferelden and Orlais, and to have to explain to them the possibility of a Qunari invasion had been the first time since joining that Josephine had felt stepped on by people who she thought respected her. Had felt alone, and close to tears again. And the subsequent assurances from Leliana and the Lady Inquisitor had done little to soothe her.

Josephine turned around on her back, staring at the high stone ceiling of her chamber.

She was nothing if not forgiving. And most of all she was just happy that a decision regarding the Inquisition had finally been made. Things were taking a straight course, her work was laid out for her, and she was finally able to make plans for herself. An option she hadn’t had in years.

For a moment, her mind drew a blank.

What did she want?

Inevitably she would have to take her place as the head of the family, but that may be a way off. She knew her parents would want to retire not too long from now, but she would need some occupation in the meantime.

A permanent return to Antiva… she would miss Orlais. She would miss Skyhold, and the Inquisition. But moving forward was the right thing to do. Treasure the good moments, and keep going.

Her thoughts wandered back to the Inquisitor. For more than a week now the Lady Inquisitor had not left her chambers, except for a short excursion to the library to get some books in the dead of night, Josephine was told.

She felt bad for her friend. The end of the Inquisition must’ve hit her hard, and the days at the Winter Palace maybe even more demanding of her than of Josephine. She understood that Lady Lavellan needed some rest and peace after the ordeal, yet she was worried that the Inquisitor may not recover from her spell of poor spirits in a timely manner. She did everything she could to not bother her with formalities, but in some instances it was not avoidable.

Josephine had visited her twice. Once to make sure that she was alright and to encourage her to ask for whatever she needed. And the second time to bring by in person a stack of the recommendation letters for the Inquisition soldiers for her to sign.

The Inquisitor had obviously been in poor shape. Expressionless as she had been on the ride home, she had been laying in bed. She had met Josephine’s eyes, but aside from that had said little. “Thank you,” had been the first words she’d uttered, and that was when Josephine was on the stairs down on the way to the door. Had she walked a little faster, or were her hearing worse, she’d’ve missed them.

But she took it as a good omen that a servant from the kitchen, tasked with bringing the Lady Inquisitor food, came into her office to return the signed letters. According to the servant, the Lady was still not eating a lot, if at all, and she had still been in bed when he had come to collect the unfinished plate and replace it with a fresh meal. But at least she was not in a completely catatonic state, so that was something.

There was a strong tug in Josephine’s chest when thinking about it. She didn’t fully comprehend the cause of her friend’s state, and she pitied her. In a way, Josephine felt like she was grieving for the person she knew. And she was embarrassed to admit it to herself, but it had a little to do with the loss of Lady Lavellan’s hand.

On their way back to Skyhold, Josephine had not be able to help herself. She had stared at the stump where her friend’s left hand used to be, where there was now nothing but red cloth. She had not seen the stump without it, but she had been wondering if the removal of the hand had left a wound. It didn’t seem that way. Solas seemed to have done a clean job of taking her hand.

She had shuddered at the thought of seeing the stump the way it was, and had immediately felt guilty. She still loved Lady Lavellan, still respected and cherished their friendship, but in spite of herself she had felt uncomfortable riding home next to her. And when in her chambers, she had tried her best not to look at the stump. The Inquisitor was not supposed to feel reduced by her loss. Still, Josephine had never had a stomach for unsavory sights. Which was another reason she was not cut out to be a bard.

There was… another, additional reason why she mourned the loss of the hand, in particular.

Josephine lifted her right hand and let her fingertips trail over her left arm, barely touching. And she thought back to the time before the Exalted Council.

There had been numerous times when the Inquisitor’s touch had thrown her off. It wasn’t anything special, it was never anything romantic. It was just the way Lady Lavellan was. For how difficult she was to read sometimes, for how contained she always seemed, she was very much a physical person. Filled with warmth ready to be shared. It was one of the things Josephine loved about her.

There were always subtle touches. To Josephine’s arm or hand, often. To Josephine’s cheek, a few times. There had been two hugs. Once at the banquet after Corypheus’s defeat. The Inquisitor had embraced her tightly and breathed in her ear how grateful she was, that everything was lovely and the success wouldn’t have been possible without her commitment. Josephine’s mind had unraveled, she had been barely able to stammer thanks.

The second hug had been at Josephine’s wedding reception.

Lord Adorno Ciel Otrano was a good match and a fine spouse. There had been several meetings where Josephine outlined the way she lived her life, her responsibilities with the Inquisition and her family. Adorno was handsome and a sensible young man. He recognized quickly enough that he wouldn’t be marrying a typical noble woman who would organize social gatherings and spend coin on new furniture. She would work and become head of the Montilyet family, regardless of marriage and children. And Adorno, sensible as he was, accepted.

It was not a marriage of love, and even though Josephine lamented her brief, superficial and exciting _la splendeur des coeurs perdus_ with Blackwall, or even the Inquisitor’s occasional ways to leave her breathless, she was determined to have it locked down.

A few months after their victory, Josephine travelled to Antiva for a few weeks to help prepare the wedding (because it would have been too much for her mother alone, and Yvette surely would make a mess of it). For the actual ceremony itself (which was tasteful), Leliana, Lavellan and even Cullen journeyed to her home country. Blackwall -or rather Rainier- had been invited but was on his way to make amends. Josephine had felt a tinge of disappointment, but also relief; two of the people she had fancied at some point attending her wedding might have been too much for her too handle.

Many of Antiva’s nobility attended, and Josephine had been excited.

Everything had gone according to plan. Except for one little moment at the reception when the Inquisitor had come to give her congratulations. She had shaken Adorno’s hand and told him she wished them both everything good in the world, and then hugged Josephine.

There was no logical reason for her to become to bashful at a simple hug. Yet still, for a brief, aching heartbeat, Josephine had wondered what things would be like if the Inquisitor reciprocated her feelings. If her hugs and subtle touches meant what Josephine wanted them to mean. If it were her Josephine would be standing next to, receiving gifts and good luck wishes with. Throughout the next few days and even after her return to Skyhold, Josephine wondered if her friend knew what her touch did to her.

Josephine was under no illusions, however. She told herself, over and over again, that that was just the way the Inquisitor was with all her friends. There was no reason for her to lose her speech or -Maker forbid- her grip on herself. That had happened once, too.

In her office, Josephine had caught the Inquisitor up on what had happened while she was away taking care of some business in the Hissing Wastes. That was a few months after the wedding, after Josephine had once more regained mastery over her over-enthusiastic romantic streak.

She had laid out which nobles had left under what circumstances, which nobles bore what profit for the Inquisition, which had arrived or were to arrive, and what shenanigans Sera had been up to that had horrified the guests. One had involved honey in one particular noble’s nug-skin boots.

Josephine had been able to remedy the situation by offering to send another pair, even more fashionable than the ruined boots, to the noble’s summer home where he would be headed to next. In a related stroke, she had also softened the rivalry between the noble’s house and another by relating that maybe not all misfortune that befell him was the other’s fault.

Lady Lavellan had laughed and placed her hand on Josephine’s across the desk, warm and solid. “You’re a gem. I don’t know what we would do without you.”

And just like that, she had felt the heat crawl up her neck.

“Adorno and I will try for a child next time I’m back home,” she had blurted out as she ripped her hand away from under Lavellan’s.

The dumb-struck look on her face made Josephine feel even sillier for saying what she had just said. She could tell that the Inquisitor for the life of her couldn’t figure out why she would even mention that now.

“But- that’s great, Josephine! I wish you both the best of luck.”

And that had been that.

And now… well. It was silly to be grieving for someone who wasn’t even dead or gone. The Lady Inquisitor was still with them, after all, and how many times did Josephine have to fear that she would get a letter explaining her sudden and unfortunate demise?

She was simply worried that the latest events had altered Lavellan, the way they would alter anyone. Losing so much of what had made her life the way it was over the past three years, and all in such a short span of time. Seeing her friend so deeply withdrawn into herself had been shocking to Josephine. And perhaps selfishly, she lamented the possibility that the touches she had so feared and loved at the same time would cease.

But maybe a part of the grief she felt was her friend’s, the sadness of knowing that she was in pain and suffering, and that there wasn’t much she could do to help. Josephine would very much have liked to be able to do something solid for her, aside from shielding her from most paperwork and decisions.

Leliana didn’t have any advice, either.

“She just found out that one of her closest friends betrayed her, and that another friend uses her people to destroy this world. It would be a lot to handle for anybody,” Leliana remarked. “Best to let her accept what has happened on her own, and let her know we’re here if she has need of us.”

Still, she thought, maybe she should pay Lady Lavellan another visit.

After allowing herself an eternity in bed, Josephine finally sat up and sighed again. It was time to start the day.

 

 

Megan almost dropped the candle holder with a scream when she entered the kitchen and saw a shadowy figure standing there in front of the cupboard. This was it, she thought. I’ll be caught or dead.

The shadowy figure turned around to face her, and in Megan’s opinion, she’d almost rather it had been a ghost or some other monster. 

“Hello, I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t think anybody would be here this late.”

Megan immediately set down the candle holder on the table next to her and curtseyed as deeply as she could. “Your Worship,” she whispered.

The Inquisitor raised her eyebrows.

“Well, I don’t know about all that,” she said uncomfortably. “You can stand straight now, there’s no need for this formality. I just came down to grab some food. I assume you want the same?”

Megan held her tongue.

Without sparing another glance, the Inquisitor resumed to fill a rough wooden bowl with fruit and a few cakes that were in the cupboard. Megan wondered what she was supposed to do with that. Turn around and discreetly leave? Offer help? The ease and familiarity with which the Inquisitor continued to roam the kitchen made her uncomfortable. And what made her even more uncomfortable was seeing how the woman pressed the bowl against her chest using her stunted arm, while using the other to fill it.

“Do you… would you… like a hand with that, your Worship?”

Immediately, she could feel her ears heat and she knew she was in even more trouble. The Inquisitor turned half around, really only moving her upper body, and a odd look lay on her face. Eyebrows raised again and pulled towards each other, her mouth small and cheeks a little tense.

“Uh… I think I’m fine. I’m almost done, anyways. Thank you, though.”

Her tone wasn’t as harsh as Megan had expected, and she exhaled. Finally, after another awkward minute, the Inquisitor was done.

“So… good night,” she said. And then moved towards the door.

Megan hurried to get there before her and held it open so that the Inquisitor could walk through. Maybe it was the candle light, but Megan couldn’t tell which one of the both of them looked more embarrassed.

“Uh, thanks. Rest well.”

And just like that, she was gone into the dark hallway and on her way up the stairs. Having left her own candle behind on the table.

Megan exhaled slowly. And realized then, that the Inquisitor hadn’t even bothered to ask what she was doing here in the kitchen past midnight. It wouldn’t be long until Jeven would come for their meet-up before he’d leave for the Orlesian army tomorrow. And she couldn’t wait to tell him of her weird encounter.


	3. Like real people do

_Fear, bundling up in his belly into a tight ball, getting heavier, heavier, heavier, making him sink, sink, sink…_

_She hated travelling, never properly felt safe, and that little knife in her skirts wouldn’t do much if a bandit were to grab her, were to-_

_Oh, what if she didn’t get along with the new troop? Orlesians were known to be uptight and weird. She’d gotten along with the Orlesian soldiers at Skyhold, but it had taken work. Balls, maybe it was a mistake to go to that army. She wondered if Commander Cullen could-_

A warm, broad hand on the soldier’s shoulder.

“A man named Auguste is homesick. He is supposed to go to Denerim, but he doesn’t want to. Perhaps Commander Cullen can arrange a switch.”

She looked up in surprise- she had never noticed Cole before.

“Talk to him.”

It was more confusion than anything that made the soldier agree and get up to leave Herald’s Rest. Maryden, in the middle of a song, saw him and smiled. He smiled back and took the seat.

He hadn’t specifically given the soldier a push so he could take her seat, but it was a welcome side effect. It did have a better view of his love.

His days were quiet and calm for the most part. A lot of the residents in the hold were busying themselves, preparing for a new segment of their lives. Anxiety ran high regardless of what people were to do next. Some grief, here or there. Deep friendships that would have to endure separation, a few lovers who didn’t have a future.

But there were also those who did.

Cole kept his eyes on Maryden. Her cheeks colored in deep rose, her strong dark brows. The elegant length of her face, and how she looked in the leather vest and the forest green, padded shirt she wore. She didn’t look feminine, per say, she looked like an entity of her own. And she radiated comfort.

They would be travelling together, later, after everything ended. Maryden was working on a collection of songs she had written and was still writing about her time at the Inquisition. She had travelled across Orlais and Ferelden for a while, after the victory over Corypheus, but she had found her way home. That was when she had noticed Cole for the first time.

At that point he had been more human than anything for over a year, and was beginning to get used to it. Certain things he was able to do without forgetting them frequently, such as eating or bathing. Some things revealed themselves to him that he never thought had been hidden. Some things he lost, and mourned when he noticed they were gone. The most disturbing thing he had to learn and cope with was other people noticing him now. And - having opinions.

About the way he carried himself, the way his voice sounded, his face, his body. It was deeply discomforting. And made him feel like he ought to take position to his own body, when before he never had had the need. What, after all, was his body ever other than a vessel to carry his mind and spirit around?

It made him anxious, the way people were judging him. Picking out flaws. And before he knew it, he was sneaking into a Josephine’s quarters, for she had the largest looking glass, and examining himself. And he could see what people were finding appalling.

His body was long, languid, awkward-looking. He was not built like Iron Bull had been, a mountain of a man who exuded security. Or like Blackwall, who looked like a literal wall. Broad and thick and ready to be leaned on. Comforted. Or Dorian, who was not broad, but also strong and always looked polished to perfection.

His body gave him a certain speed in battle, though, his long arms and legs. How slim he was. Cole could make a half turn and evade an enemy’s blade in the fraction of a second. And because of his long arms he never had to be too close to make an effective strike. He could be out of danger quicker than a heartbeat. He loved that.

A lot of people disliked looking at his face. Part of it was covered his hair, and they took offense to that. His eyes were set deep, in what almost looked like caverns. And his face was scarred, with broad pores, prone to discoloration. Together with his large, whooping hat and his carelessly assembled attire, plenty of people assumed he was unwashed, dirty, impure of heart and probably up to no good.

With the latter ones they were mistaken, with the former ones - not always.

Varric had been of particular help in that area. He’d said:  “Look, kid, now that you are permanently squatting in that body, might was well take good care of it. Agreed?” And then introduced him to the bathhouses in Skyhold.

Dorian, later-on, had gifted him a scented oil.

“I don’t think I ever congratulated you on your new-found humanity. How splendid! Now you will finally understand the joys to be had in this world. Here. A man is nothing if he doesn’t smell like one. I took the liberty of selecting a scent for you. It is quite odd and not the most popular, but I figured it would suit you. So that there is one more reason you’ll stay in people’s minds now. For any future… adventures, you may have. With girls. Or boys?” He’d looked at Cole imploringly, but didn’t find the hint he’d been searching for. “Whatever the case. Just don’t over-do it.”

Cole had discovered that he felt more comfortable in his body when he was clean. The scented oil Dorian had procured for him went unused more often than not. But for days that felt special, or days when he wanted to remember the Tevinter better, he popped open the lid and experimentally dabbed some of it on his wrists. It smelled nutty and musky, with a faint, near undetectable note of something sharp or spicy. It made Cole think of his daggers, laying in freshly upturned soil next to hazelnuts. And he felt better about himself, and life, when he wore it.

He had been wearing it when Maryden talked to him for the first time. It was in _Herald’s Rest_ , when he had been watching her from a corner from under his wide-brimmed hat. He’d thought she hadn’t noticed him, but after her third set she’d come over to his table.

“So,” she’d said. “Will you just be staring at me all night or are you planning on buying me a drink?”

Completely thrown off, Cole had been unable to say anything. Previously, he had been contemplating how to arrange for a conversation between the bard and The Iron Bull’s first in command, Krem. He could sense the two of them longing for somebody soft and loving, for somebody to take care of and somebody who would take care of them.

But as he’d looked up into her slim, heavy-lidded eyes and and at her sweet freckles, he realized that for the first time in his life he wanted something for himself. Her attention, the approval on her face, that _pull_ she was feeling towards him, that Cole felt hard to resist…

Maryden was bright, Maryden was patient, Maryden was crystal-clear, Maryden was melancholic, Maryden was determined, Maryden was optimistic, Maryden was a force of nature. She was infinitely attractive to Cole, and he fell for her, hard, and without a second thought.

It took him a long time to finally tell her his story, and in the meantime he listened to hers. Of pain and paralysis, of cruelty and of sparks and of hope. She told him she didn’t know why she trusted him so instantaneously, so completely, when she had been hurt so badly before. And Cole held her and promised that nothing was more important to him than her happiness.

On the flipside, Maryden took care of him. When he slipped up with taking care of himself, when anxiety rattled his guts until he couldn’t sleep, when he felt restless at sensing all the people in need of help. She was a constant, like the moon, circling him and giving him stability. She was distraction when he needed it, comfort when he cramped up, songs when he felt like overflowing with emotions.

Nothing was as important anymore, not even what people thought of him or his body. Maryden told him he was beautiful, and that was all he needed.


	4. I'm somewhere outside my life, babe

Lavellan saw the the sky turn pink and then blue, saw the sun pass her windows, and then the sky turn pink and then dark. She saw that overall ten times before she started feeling something resembling herself again.

She had left her tower twice. Once to get food, and another time to get books, which had been a useless enterprise. Reading at ease was simply impossible, with only one hand. It had made her ill at ease, awkwardly positioning the book between her thighs and her stump, and angry at the fact that her attempt at escapism wouldn’t work. Not with the dreaded thing in her line of sight. And so the pile of books remained by her bed as if it wasn’t there at all.

The days before she started to recover, she had spent completely detached from herself, going over what had happened again and again. Turning every event over, inspecting it and its outcomes. Peering at its core, trying to place it into the bigger context. Trying to divine what might come next. It was a hopeless task.

At the very end of day ten, a bright tone, like cutlery softly hit against glass, filled the dark chamber. Lavellan turned her head to the right, facing her bedside table. The amulet Dorian had given her, laying on top of the pile of books, emitted a warm red glow. The tone repeated itself.

“Hello? Hello? Is this thing working? It better be, I paid good coin for it.”

With effort, Lavellan raised her back off the soft down pillows and sat up to grab the trinket.

“Anybody there?”

She didn’t know what exactly to do with it, so she just lowered the chain over her head and held he crystal in her hand, close to her lips.

“Dorian?” she finally replied.

“Aah,” she heard him say. “I’m relieved it works. Marvellous, isn’t it?”

In spite of herself, the Inquisitor couldn’t help but smile weakly. “It is.” A pause. “I’ve missed you.”

“I figured. Missed my velvety-smooth voice, did you? Well, here it is!” He paused, and Lavellan could tell there was more to come from him. “How are things?”

Her lips parted, ready to reply, but she closed them again. There were no words. Not yet. “You heard.”

“What? That you have been holed up since you came back to Skyhold? No, I had no idea.” Dorian gave her a chance to reply, but he dropped the cheerful air when she didn’t. “I’m sorry I can’t be there with you. I suspected this may be a difficult time. I am in the middle of the investigation to find out who killed my father, otherwise I might have been able to come down South and rattle you out of that low spell of yours. An alternative for you, of course, would be to use your privilege as the Inquisitor one last time.” His voice took on a mischievous quality. “Find yourself a nice, pretty servant to entertain you. If you have to be chained to bed, may it be with company. It’s been a while, after all.”

“I’ll be fine, Dorian. Thank you.”

“Or better yet, ask Sera to join you. A warm body in your bed ought to do the trick. And I’m sure she’d have nothing against it, as a favor to a good _friend_. You two always did make a striking couple.”

“We were never a couple, and you know that.”

All the way in Minrathous, propped on a deep red chaise longue, Dorian could hear the hesitant smile in his friend’s voice. He had a lot of cause to be pleased with himself, and plenty of occasions, but some of his favorite were when he knew he got through to somebody. Few things were better. Knowing that he had found a point to tease and distract the Inquisitor, he decided to keep poking at it.

 Dorian clicked his tongue. “A shame, truly. Then maybe you could persuade Cassandra to show you her _devotion_ for you. You know, one last reckless thing to do before the Inquisition comes to an end.”

 “The ground would split open and swallow us all before that happened. You’re absolutely impossible.”

 “Impossibly handsome, devious and clever, to be sure. But you know that already.” His smugness subsided at little when he got no response to his quip.

 The Tevinter magister swung his legs off the chaise longue and adjusted his silken robes to properly cover them. He was alone in his quarters, but the open balcony doors allowed in a breeze that made his hairs stand up. Dorian transferred his communication crystal from his left to his right hand, and propped his elbow on the chair’s lean.

 “How are things going with the investigation?” he finally heard. She sounded so tired.

 “Oh, you know,” Dorian said in a conversational tone. “It’s all theories and _tracking_ just now. My father had plenty of people who wished him harm, especially after the change of heart he had, and the more liberal politics he pursued with his seat. And everybody knows that the struggle over influence in the Magisterium isn’t much more than a cockfight anyhow. Not as flashing or subtle as in Orlais, mind you, but nevertheless.” Now it was him struggling to find words. “I will find whoever did this. They won’t be able to hide for much longer. I know I’m close.”

 “I hope you are. Make them pay.”

 Dorian furrowed his brows. “My, my. Is the Inquisitor getting vengeful on her old days? Who would’ve thunk! Hide the women and children!”

 Silence from the other end.

 “I won’t be the Inquisitor for much longer. And one-armed as I am, I’m probably much less intimidating.”

 “You know,” Dorian said evenly. “We _can_ talk about it.” Silence. “Or would you rather I entertain you with stories of _fantastical_ escapades I have witnessed in Minrathous?” Silence. “Are you there?”

 “The Iron Bull.”

 Dorian swallowed. This was not a topic he had revisited often since the end of the Exalted Council. On his way back home, he had not been able to take his mind off it. Hurt had made his every breath heavy in his chest. _Kadan_. Oh, what a masterpiece of acting the man had delivered. Dorian’s stomach still turned thinking about it.

  _Amatus_. He’d never used the term of endearment with anybody else, not in all seriousness as he had with Bull. Sneaking around Skyhold, stolen moments away from the party camp, rooms in run-down taverns, all those memories. Whether he had wanted it or not in the beginning, Dorian hadn’t been able to help himself. All of his adult life, he had felt this pull  towards and the simultaneous repulsion by the possibility of a true attachment to one of his lovers. A craving for a relationship, with all it’s fantastical aspects and it’s mundane ones. To Dorian, the mundane ones would have been the revolutionary part. Because in Tevinter, true intimacy between men did not happen. Magical, passionate moments, yes. But no day-to-day loves.

 The man had reminded him to bring his handkerchief for his allergies, Maker Almighty.

 During his journey back, he had attempted to dissect every aspect of that relationship, trying to determine what parts were real and which ones were not. In the desperate hopes that some of it _must have been real_. It must have. Soon, however, he felt himself forced to give up. He couldn’t tell. And that was the part that hurt the most. He would never get the closure he needed. What he had cautiously regarded as the first big, stable love of his life turned out to be a hoax. Or a mindless, stringless distraction from a bigger picture. Much like all of Dorian’s previous affairs. Meaning that he had never made the big strides towards personal happiness that he foolishly thought he did. He was where he had started. What a disheartening thought.

 “Ah, well,” Dorian said hoarsely and cleared his throat. “How does Varric put it? Can’t win ‘em all.”

 “I’m so sorry.”

 “Don’t be. Serves me right for having feelings.”

 “That’s not true.”

 “Isn’t it?”

 “It’s _not_ .” He was a little surprised at the sudden stubbornness in her voice, and listened closer. “You deserve better.” Another blighted pause. Couldn’t the woman speak more than two consecutive sentences without interrupting herself? “If you feel lonely, I could send Rainier up there to visit you and show you his _swordsmanship_. You know, one last reckless thing to do before the Inquisition comes to an end.”

 Dorian burst into roaring laughter, throwing his upper body backwards to meet the back of the chair that did not exist. He lost balance, but thankfully recovered it with a loud exclamation and curse before he could slip off the smooth chaise longue and hit his head on the marble floor.

 “The satin almost did me in,” he laughed.

 “What happened?”

 “As i said, the satin I’m sitting on almost killed me. I won’t tell you how, because I know you’d just hold it over my head until the end of my days. And I really should do what I can to preserve my dignity, being a full-fleshed Magister and all. Agreed?”

 “Agreed.” Another blasted pause. Then, mockingly: “ _Satin_.”

 He could almost hear her shake her head, but everything stayed quiet on the other end. And so he kept quiet, too, enjoying the company.

 A wave of affection washed over him. The silence now was a comfortable one. One they shared often when spending time together. Dorian stared out his balcony door, where he saw the last light of the day softly bounce off the harbor’s water. He was grateful to be back in a warmer climate with a more even landscape; the light unobstructed by mountains. The day was a few delicious minutes longer than it was at Skyhold.

 A knock on the door interrupted the peace.

 “Oh, there they are.”

 “Who?”

 “I have a dinner engagement with a few mighty influential and probably utterly boring people.”

 “I’ll leave you to it, then. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your evening of boredom.”

 “I could cancel, if you wanted. Truly, you’d probably be doing me a favor.”

 “No, go ahead and have dinner. I’ll be fine.”

 This time, Dorian believed her.

 “Alright,” he said warmly. “If you find yourself in need of some more distraction, don’t hesitate to call on me. I’ll keep the crystal close.”

 “Thank you. The same goes for you.”

 He waited a moment, to see if she would say anything else.

 “I love you. Take good care of yourself, alright?”

 “Only if you do the same,” he replied. “Oh, and Lavellan?”

 “Yes?”

 “Do try to climb out of your hole sometime soon, yes? The world if full of wonder and opportunities. Don’t let them pass you by for too long. And don’t risk missing your last days with the Inquisition over some heartache. You’ll regret it later if you do. You’re not alone, and you still have friends who care for you. It’s selfish to let them worry about you for longer than is absolutely necessary.”

 The Inquisitor took some time to answer, to the point when Dorian was almost about to break the spell because he was sure she wouldn’t anymore.

 “I will,” she promised quietly.

 “Good girl. I love you, too, by the way. Don’t advertise that fact, though, yes? We wouldn’t want to rob anyone of _The Tale of The Evil Tevinter Magister And How He Manipulated The Herald of Andraste_. Where else would the poor people get their entertainment from? Alright, I’ll have to run now. Talk to you soon, Inquisitor!”

 “Talk to you soon, Dorian. Take care.”

 

 

Thom was looking down at the bear he’d just finished carving and wondered what the point was. He started carving toys from a young age because he had never had many to begin with. His father had taught him, and from then on young Thom had a creative outlet that kept him out of trouble, somewhat popular with the village’s other kids, and gave him all the toys he could possibly need.

 On his travels he had always distributed the wooden horses, birds, cats, dogs, cows, and sheep among the children he met. And he continued that practice in Skyhold. But with all the elves gone, a good chunk of the hold’s kids had left as well.

 Thom realized that he somehow had never paid a lot of attention to the elves working or training or simply living here, and he wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Should he have been more attentive? Did it speak of ignorance or even malice that he didn’t pay attention to who was an elf or not? He could imagine Sera’s answer.

 “Start treating me like an elf and I’ll put earwigs in your beard at night!”

He could also imagine Solas’ reply, maybe.

 “Being mindful of your neighbor’s background does not necessitate treating them with more or less respect. Just as a human’s status in society should not affect their rights, neither should an elf be treated worse for the shape of his ears.”

 At any rate, neither of them were here to discuss it with him. And maybe that was for the best. Though he missed the spunky little blonde elf, he had to admit. Drinking in the tavern by himself was not half as fun without his usual company from back in the day. Sera, Iron Bull, Dorian, and occasionally the Inquisitor. Varric would join, too, on evenings when he wasn't busy.  Those were fun times.

 Thom drummed his fingers on the workbench in front of him. Carved toys of varying sizes were set up in a row, all of them finished. Well, a coat of paint couldn’t hurt. But that he generally didn’t bother with. Little buggers put all kinds of things in their mouths, the younger ones did, at least. Paint really shouldn’t be added to that list. He asked himself what to do with all of them now.

 Not only were the elven children gone, a portion of the human ones had left, too, along with their parents. Soldiers and their happy new families, found here after defeating Corypheus. Merchants who had brought their spouses and children. Nobles who dragged their nieces and nephews to Skyhold to make connections.

 The hold was not going to be a hub of political of financial influence for much longer, and the soldiers were officially released from their duties. Many saw this as the time to go, and Thom didn’t blame them. Skyhold didn’t feel as much like home anymore, and few wanted to see it completely dismantled. Rather leave with the good memories in your heart rather than see a project you poured your heart into broken down into pieces and dissolved.

 And so Thom sat on a good dozen toys that he wasn’t sure who to give to. A flash of a thought crossed his mind. He could paint them after all, and give them to people whose side he fought along. As a goodbye gift, so to speak. But then again he thought it may come across as aloof, and the discarded the idea. Sera might appreciate that, maybe even the Inquisitor. But Dorian might mock it to his Tevinter magister friends, sending one to Divine Victoria was unthinkable, and Cullen and Cassandra would probably not even know what to do with them.

 Maybe he could sell them to one of the remaining merchants, and that way they’d come into good hands. Lugging them around when he was going to start travelling in a few weeks seemed a bit bothersome, especially because he would want to create new ones. So trying to sell them may be the best idea, even though he had never done that before.

 Looking down on the toys and the joy he had imagined on the children's’ faces when he would hand them out, his stomach twisted a bit. The thought to sell them didn’t sit quite right with him, after all.

 “Rainier,” a voice interrupted his contemplation.

 To his surprise, it was Lady Lavellan standing in the entrance to the barn with an unreadable expression.

 “Inquisitor.” His rumbling greeting travelled the distance between them.

 “I need help,” she said without much prelude. Only when she lifted it did Thom see that she was holding a wooden sword. A crooked smile stretched across her face.“Do you have some time for me?”


	5. Eyes and words are so icy, oh but she burns like rum on a fire

“Mercy, mercy!” Lavellan cried out. She swayed in a half circle and let the training sword slip through her fingers. “Mercy!”

 Cassandra struck hers tip first into the dusty gravel and planted her hands firmly on her hips. She’d broken into sweat, though that had little to do with the sparring. The tempered rays of sunshine hitting the yard were surprisingly warm today. 

 “Your flair for the dramatic is near unparalleled, friend,” she said matter-of-factly.

 “You’re telling me?” replied Lavellan as she leaned her back against the wall and let gravity slide her down onto her bottom, legs extended like a child. A patch of soft grass and dirt greeted her buttocks. “How’s that new chapter of  _Swords & Shields _?”

 “Magnificently terrible and terribly magnificent.” Cassandra was unimpressed by the verbal riposte, just as she had been by the Inquisitor’s earlier actual riposte. “But that is not the point.”

 “What is, then?”

 “That crying  _mercy, mercy_ won’t serve to improve your guard or your defense in battle.”

 “You stopped hitting me, so I think it worked just fine.”

 Cassandra pushed out an expressive huff that left no doubt as to what she thought of that technique. Then she took a few steps towards her friend.

 “You really ought to be standing up, Inquisitor,” she contended. Her voice gained an empathetic note. “It is better for your muscles. Walk around slowly for a little while, so they won’t cool out too fast.”

 A look of pained resistance thrown her way, but in the end the elf heeded her advice. She pushed herself up without complaint and made a few unmotivated steps.

 “Now,” Cassandra began. “Onto my observations-” 

 Lavellan somewhat copied her tutor’s stance. Though she was slightly leaning forward as if she needed the hand on her hip to support her weight rather than to look energetic, as was the case with Cassandra. 

 “I saw you flinching before I dealt you the blow to your right upper arm,” she continued.    Paused when she saw the annoyed expression on the student’s face. 

 “I’m sorry.” The elf regained control over her mimik. “I’m frustrated with myself, not you. I know I’m supposed to look steady.”

 “By flinching you told me where to hit you before I even struck you,” Cassandra insisted. 

 She watched her friend’s face harden.  


They were stomping through the narrow space between the rocks, on their way to Small Grove Camp.  
  
**_“_ ** I'm surprised you don't wear heavier armor on your blind side,” Blackwall said, directed at Iron Bull.  
  
**_“_ ** _If I did that, I'd just be telling people where to hit me. As it is, every half-decent fighter ees the eye and thinks he can feint,_ _t_ hen comes in with a low stab. Then I chop his head off. It's like a gimme.” He wasn’t grinning, but when Lavellan looked back she saw a certain satisfaction. Returning her glance, he winked with his good eye.  
  
_Blackwall harrumphed._ **_“_ ** _That_ can't  work every time.”  
  
**_“_ ** It doesn't. But taking a blade to the ribs is a pretty good teacher.”  
  
“Well then, Bull, maybe we should get you a second eye patch,” Lavellan grinned. “They’ll never see it coming that way.”  
_  
_ “Good one, boss,” Iron Bull replied in a tone that suggested that it was Not A Good One.

 

Before Cassandra could snap her out of it, Lavellan turned away and went to pick up her practice sword.

“I’m ready to go again. What else do I have to work on?”

“Well-” For a moment the seeker contemplated asking after her friend’s change in attitude, but then decided against it. “Your stance is solid. You’re strong in your arms and shoulders, and you can hold that strength for a short amount of time. You are, however, used to releasing it all with an arrow on a bow. You need to learn to keep holding it inside you, and only let it out in bursts that don’t deplete it all.”

Lavellan nodded impatiently.

“Your biggest enemy is your impulse to divert your enemy’s attention and turn into thin air. It has served you well when fighting from a distance, but is unfitting to what we are trying to accomplish here. You know that, I think. It may sound strange, but you need to get used to danger up-close.”

The elf shot her a mischievous look. Chin tilted low, a faint smile, eyes fixed on her and the lower lids squinted just a little bit, eyebrows drawn in.

“Why else d’you think I’m training with you of all people?”  
Cassandra didn’t know how to respond to that, and so she didn’t. Instead she lifted her gaze to the sky and saw it grow lighter, more transparent.

“We have been here awhile,” she said. “Best we’d get some rest and pick it up tomorrow.”

The Inquisitor nodded. She crossed the distance between herself and Cassandra’s practice sword, pulled it out of the ground and made her way to the armory, with her own sword pressed against her chest using the left arm.

 

Time in Skyhold passed in such an odd tempo, Cassandra recognized. Some hours or a day felt eternal, like pearls on a never-ending string. And then some days she could not even remember, looking back. Logically she knew she must have done something noteworthy, if only writing letters to supporters of the Seekers, or trying to find a good spot in Thedas to rebuild them. But for the life of her, she could not remember what she had done that day.  And just like that, more than a fourth of their time left in Skyhold was up.

It would be given over to the Chantry. Set technically on Ferelden land, but quite perfectly in the middle between King Alistair’s and Queen Celene’s kingdoms, it would be a splendid connecting spot between the countries who had been set against each other for so long. Moreover, it would likely be a place of worship. Home of the blessed Inquisition, and of the Herald of Andraste, it was bound to be a place of pilgrimage. Especially after Divine Victoria took it under her wing. 

As much as she sometimes disagreed with her Divine’s policies, Cassandra still respected her and was glad that Skyhold should fall to her and become a holy place. It deserved to not be forgotten this time. Too much had happened here.

Lavellan stepped out into the fading light. “Care to join me in the tavern?”

“Gladly, my friend.”

She nodded, and led the way.

 _Herald’s Rest_ was mostly empty, not even the bard was there. But Cabot was still there, and happy enough to prepare the two women dinner. They sat in silence for a while, just resting until the food came. Cassandra leaned back against the wall and almost nodded off.  Lavellan had her chin placed on her right hand, with her elbow on the table, her eyes glazed over.   
Both of them jerked back to reality when Cabot placed steaming bowls of mutton stew in front of them, along with some sour-dough bread and red ale. Without wasting time they dug in. The meat was falling apart after having been reheated so often, but it was still tasty.

Every now and then Cassandra lifted her gaze to look at Lavellan. She was attentive enough during the sparring, somewhat approaching the spirit she had before the Winter Palace. The challenge awakened something in her, Cassandra could tell. After a good week of barely moving, training must have been a relief. Ever since the training she herself underwent with the Seekers, there was not a day during which Cassandra had neglected practice. Maybe one or two where she had been unconscious from sickness or recovery, but those she didn’t count. Any day that she had been able to hold a sword she had used to maintain her skills, honing her body until she knew it inside and out.

She had fought along the Inquisitor’s side often enough to know her style, too. And she could tell that the neglect of the past weeks had done some damage. Her body let her down every now and then. Whether it happened that she was not quick enough to lift the sword and block a blow, or that a side-step didn’t work. And getting accustomed to a new weapon and a completely different fighting style didn’t help. Cassandra had seen the look of surprise and betrayal and shock displayed on her face when things didn’t work out the way she’d wanted them to during fighting. She pitied her, but she was also determined to get her friend to prime shape again.

There were setbacks, however. Using a shield was not an option. With no hand to hold onto the straps, it was more of a hindrance than anything else. It slipped off her arm if not positioned right, and too much focus and strength were put into keeping angled just right instead of maintaining a sensible defense or guard. Lavellan had been particularly upset at that, or at least that was what Rainier had told her in confidence.

And the flinching and evasion, of course. Cassandra had never noticed whether or not she did that in battle, too, but in any case she was doing it now. The warrior knew of course that resilience was an ability to be learned like any other.

At least she didn’t try to avoid every blow by instinctively jumping away from and twirling around the tip of the enemy’s blade. That was something Rainier had complained to her about extensively. “It’s like trying to strike at wind. Rather than using her sword to defend herself, she jumps out of the way every time.” She was not made for this style of fighting, that much was certain. But she seemed determined nevertheless to not be without weapons, even if she couldn’t use the one her heart was beating for.   
Cassandra circled the spoon in the stew, thinking. Finally she brought herself to break the silence.

“I have been wondering about something.”

Lavellan looked up, her eyes wide with interest.

“You are a rogue. And it is clear that swordfighting does not come naturally to you. Why did you not ask Cole to teach you first? A dagger would be simpler to control for you than a sword, and it would suit your style better. Even if it is only one, instead of two.”

“Swordfighting is a very useful skill,” she replied after a heartbeat’s hesitation. “I like a challenge. I am picking up some very good pointers from you.”

Cassandra looked at her skeptically, and saw her squirm.

“I do not appreciate being lied to, I thought you knew this.”

“I’m not lying,” lied the Inquisitor, shaking her head a little.  
She held the warrior’s gaze; and to somebody who knew her less, Lavellan might not have betrayed so much. Seeing that her friend was not convinced, she turned her attention back on the stew.

“I need to be able to take a hit, don’t I?” Lavellan said harshly when she noticed that Cassandra was still staring at her. “That’s what Rainier and you are teaching me.”

“I’ve seen you jump down impossible cliffs and walls and mountains with minimal regard to your safety. And now you are wanting to learn how to take a hit?”

Lavellan smiled, tilting her head at the slightly reproachful tone.

It was true. The elf had little patience for safe ways and gravel paths. When there was a set of stairs, she was sure to leap down at least half a flight to avoid walking the individual stairs. If she wasn’t jumping over the railing, that was. “It’s boring,” had been the woman’s only explanation

The seeker stared at her, until Lavellan directed her mischievous look to her dinner. Then she contemplated something. And was pleased to stumble on a reasonable idea.

“This is not about weapons at all, is it?” she said triumphantly. “You don’t want Cole poking around in your head.”  
Lavellan’s eyelids snapped apart and she stared back at her friend. If she had expected tact from Seeker Pentaghast, she had clearly miscalculated. Looking at her in a deliberately unresponsive manner was, Cassandra guessed, supposed to show her that she was treading close to a line that the other woman did not wish crossed. Cassandra was very much willing to respect and indulge a friend’s desire for privacy, for them to sort things out on their own. But there was also a limit. Which was reached when said friend made every appearance of stilting their own progress.

Cassandra held the elf’s blank stare in a levelled manner. Herald or no, she was not going to get bashful at having spoken the truth.   
After a few seconds Lavellan turned her face a bit to the side, She ripped a chunk of bread off the loaf, perhaps a bit too fiercely, and proceeded to dunk it into the stew. It was obvious that the topic was closed now.

“Don’t you think Cole could help you with whatever you are fighting with?” the seeker insisted after a pause.

“Cassandra!”, Lavellan shouted, her palm slamming onto the table. Bowls shook and spilled a little. And the soggy piece of bread, flung across the table as she had let it go, hit Cassandra’s tankard, leaving a mess. A puddle grew quickly, catching up with the spilled drops on the table’s surface.

Without meaning to, the warrior had jerked. Less because of her dining companion’s sudden movement, but because of the tone of voice. Instant defensiveness and indignation rose in her - never before had the Inquisitor raised her voice at her. And especially not for something that Cassandra perceived as just an empathetic conversation between friends.   
She was about to raise her voice in return, when she saw Lavellan hectically look around the tavern. Checking if Cole had heard them. That was what gave Cassandra the resolve and patience to swallow her approaching rage. Deliberately composed, though maybe a tad cool, she continued:

“If you are hesitant to call on his help, you know I am discreet.”

“Frankly,” Lavellan spat, her full attention now back on her friend, “and no offense - but you are the last person I would ask for advice on this matter. You, Leliana and Cullen.”

“Are you-”

Cassandra took a breath and held it. She had learned long ago that giving into one’s temper usually yielded negative results, if any. Emotionally, there were only two choices she saw in that instant: hurl her tankard against Lavellan’s head, or have her own head explode. And oh, was she tempted to act on the first one.

“Although,” Lavellan continued, more to herself that to her dining companion, and seemingly unaware of the imminent danger, “that’s not quite true, I guess. I suppose the last person I’d go to for help would be the Divine. But that may go without saying.”

The seeker’s first emotion was repulsion by the discarding tone. To talk that way about Divine Victoria was inches short of blasphemy. But a common denominator revealed itself.  
Lavellan shoved her half-finishes bowl of food away from her and reached for the ale.

“Is it because we are Andrastian?” Cassandra asked as she was working on containing her rage. And failing. “Are you suggesting Cullen, Leliana and I would be without compassion for your situation because  _we do not share your faith_?”

Lavellan met her eye, then took a long gulp. She sat her tankard down, started circling the rim with her index finger.

“Yes.”

The offhanded delivery made that simple reply all the more hurtful to Cassandra, and for a short moment she knew not what to do with herself. But Lavellan kept talking before the other woman could comment.

“I have been around you all for three years. I have been surrounded by the Chantry whichever way I turned, and I learned. I read the Chant of Light. I spoke about religion with you, Leliana, Dorian and Cullen, even Sera. Other people, too. Did more reading. Talked to clerics. I didn’t believe, but I wanted to understand.

“I can say that I have the best and the worst of humans, sometimes even both united in one person. Before I started living among you, and after.

“And as much as I love you all, and as aware as I am that you would try to empathize and help-” Lavellan’s casual demeanor stumbled over what she was about to say next, “- I fail to believe that none of you would rejoice at least a little bit in the fall of Dalish Faith. And I cannot bear to see that in your eyes. It would be too cruel.”

Cassandra hushed her anger. A muted part of her still resented the implication that she would not be able to help herself but to emotionally exploit a friend’s crisis of faith to strengthen her own. But another, selfish part felt guilty for also not being able to fully exclude the possibility.

“I cannot imagine what this must be like for you,” she said, calmer now. “I am sorry, my friend.”

The last remnants of her sneering attitude from before twitched around the seams of Lavellan’s lips before disappearing entirely.

“Thank you.”

“But you should not cast yourself in the role of the victim. And then make your friends out to be villains. All this will accomplish is to keep you from taking action. Where is your drive? Where is your anger?”

“The person I could be angry at has crippled me, destroyed the faith of my ancestors, and frayed my connection to my people. I’m not an idiot. I know when I’ve lost a round.”

“Solas.”

In the beginning, shortly after the explosion at the conclave, Cassandra had suspected that the elf was up to something. But so she had of everybody else who had survived, including the future Inquisitor. Mad with an inconsolable rage, she had not cared who was responsible as long as she could thrust the consequences on somebody. During the year that followed, she had not once considered that the culprit was walking next to her through forests, sand- and ice deserts.  
She was disgusted at the thought that she had become friends with the person whose actions led to the murder of her beloved Divine. That she’d praised his help in the face of the fragile political situation.

On the other hand, he did help in establishing the Inquisition. He fought rogue templars and rabid apostates, deluded grey wardens and venatori. He gave knowledge, time, effort and blood, and he pointed out Skyhold when Haven was naught but ashes among snow.

Cassandra would perhaps have been more understanding of Solas’ goal and actions, were it not for the spies. And how eerily empty Skyhold was without them. His spies, and the Qunari ones.  
That last factor had Cassandra reeling. Not so much immediately after the events at the Winter Palace. But more so after returning home… to a near-wiped out fortress. Usually, when a larger and important delegation returned to the Skyhold, a good number of people welcomed them home. Because of the excitement, but also to hug and kiss anyone who had been gone and missed.

After the Exalted Council, however… there were so few.

And Cassandra had felt bile rise up in her. Only then did she recognize the taint that the double-betrayal had left on the previous three years. The Maker worked in mysterious ways, it was said. And there were always people jealous and weary of those who followed His word and tried to do right by His name. But to have had vipers among them from the very beginning?  
Now, Cassandra couldn’t help but think of how very convenient it had been to have a rift mage there right after the explosion at the conclave.

“ _Whatever caused the breach is connected to your prisoner’s mark_ ,” she heard his firm voice say. “ _If we understand the mark, we may be able to close it_.”

“He’s left me with quite a mess on my hands,” Lavellan interrupted her thoughts. She seemed to consider something, then dismiss it. “I always meant to go back to my clan after the Exalted Council. And I really ought to…

“But you wonder how you will explain it all to them?” Cassandra interjected.

The elf stared down at the cold puddle of stew on the wooden surface, lost in thoughts. And Cassandra waited. Dinner was all but forgotten.

“How could I destroy what my people have desperately been compiling for hundreds of years?” she finally said. “How could I say to my parents that they have been telling my siblings and I the wrong stories? How do I explain to my keeper that everything she has been taught and was teaching us is a lie? Who am I to disrupt and tear down our culture? Who would believe me?”

Cassandra knew the feeling. She saw her own dilemma with the Rite of Tranquility and the Seekers of Truth in her friend’s conflict.

Was it right to publicize information even if it would cause people pain? Or was it better to keep quiet and let people live with skeletons under their beds? When was it righteous, when was it selfish? Was truth an absolute entity with no grey areas? 

“They deserve the truth, Lavellan. Even if it is ugly, and even if they do not want to hear it. You have to do the right thing.”

The elf put her elbow on the table, rested her forehead on her hand. Cassandra gave her a moment before continuing.

“And besides, perhaps you are not giving your people enough credit. You left them years ago, but you never forgot about them. You made a name for yourself in the world, and you have used it to help them on numerous occasions. Things have occurred that nobody ever thought possible, and they know that.”

“So what?”

“So by denying them what you know, you are also denying them the opportunity to correct their mistakes. It may be terrifying, but it is necessary. Or will you give the courtesy of explaining history to Solas?”

Immediately Cassandra knew she’d struck a nerve. With a hammer.

Lavellan’s body cramped up, her nostrils flared wide, her eyes fixed rigidly on a point on the wall behind Cassandra. The warrior knew it when she saw it; pure, undamped fear. And that was when she remembered something that the Inquisitor had mentioned a minute earlier.

Lavellan still had family out there. Family that would without a doubt be entrenched in this war whether they wanted to be or not. Family that, if the Maker didn’t shield them, could just as easily stand with the annihilation of the world as they could against it.

Cassandra sent a quick prayer to Andraste that her hopeful suggestion earlier would turn out to be correct. That they would listen to reason when they heard it.  
And that Lavellan would never, ever, have to stand in front of her loved ones with their blades turned against her. Not again.

Lavellan stopped leaning on her elbow; she straightened her back. Her face was paler, expression carved, lips pressed tight. And there it was.  
The anger Cassandra had been asking after. Gleaming, and murderous.


	6. Command me to be well

The beauty of her office, Josephine discovered, was that it was  _ not  _ located in a tower. She had come to appreciate that fact on several occasions, but there were times when she did so more than others. Those namely being when she climbed stairs to visit her friend.

She arrived at the rookery, sweat beading at her hairline, a sticky feeling on her skin, and short of breath. Was she getting older?

Leliana didn’t notice her friend’s arrival at first. The spymaster was busy cooing to a raven on her arm, and Josephine wondered what she could possibly tell that bird. Nevertheless it was a sweet sight, and  _ almost _ worth the climb.

Leliana walked the raven over to the window, bent her knees a bit - and then like a coiled spring bounced the bird up and off into the air. It was then that she turned around and saw the ambassador supporting herself against the wall.

“Josy,” she greeted her with delight in her voice, and walked over. “To what do I owe this honor? The interlude is tomorrow, or am I mistaken?”

“No, you’re quite right,” Josephine replied.  “I noticed I have two unfilled-” She gulped air. “-hours in my schedule and decided to ask you on a walk. Though I am now regretting the decision. Did you  _ have _ to pick the highest tower to work from?”

Leliana laughed her bell-like laughter. 

“I appreciate the sentiment. But you could have sent a messenger, you know.”

“I felt this was more personal for a social call.”

With the grace of a high-born dancer Leliana stepped closer to Josephine and offered her arm. The ambassador gladly took it, and together they ventured all the way down again. 

“So what prompted this, Josy?” Leliana asked.

“I felt like a breath of fresh air, and wanted some company. There is only so much time we have together before our paths diverge again.”

The other woman nodded.

In truth, there was an additional reason for Josephine’s decision to coax her friend into some private time. But she wondered if she first would have to fill the bard up with some wine in order to safely broach the topic. 

They nodded and greeted people they passed by in the library, and in the main hall. Clerics sent by Divine Victoria had started trickling into Skyhold these past few days, though they mostly kept to the herb garten and Andraste’s shrine there. 

“Sister Nightingale,” a voice called to them when the women were about to exit the hall. An Inquisition messenger brought some papers Leliana had requested, and she instructed him to leave them on her desk in the rookery. Josephine didn’t envy the messenger the climb, particularly because the young man had obviously hoped to avoid it by springing the documents onto his superior downstairs.

Half-way down the stairs, a noble tried tying Josephine into a conversation, and then finally in the upper courtyard a Chantry initiate caught both of them with a menial concern she wanted to get off her chest.

“You know,” Josephine started after they’d gotten rid of her. “I still have a few bottles of Antivan Red in my chambers. One of those would probably make for a calmer past-time than a walk along the barricades.”

“I’d prefer a Côte du C œ ur, but if that is what we have, I suppose it’ll do,” Leliana said, peppering her reply with an implication that did not go past Josephine.

“Oh, do not even start with Côte du C œ ur,” the ambassador replied ironically as she turned around to take those stairs back up to the main hall. “I would rather drink sewer water. Orlesians do not know good wine.”

“What a scandalous statement, Ambassador Montilyet! Don’t let our noble guests hear that.” 

“Antiva  _ invented  _ good wine. It is hardly an insult. Ask anyone, Sister Nightingale.”

“Any Antivan, you mean?”

“Antiva has the climate and the rich soil necessary for growing exquisite wines. Since the Antivan kingdom never put as many resources into expansion, we were able to capitalize on the products we already had and perfect them. Orlesian wine has its creative characteristics, to be sure, but those are added after the fact. Antivan wine is quite simply outstanding as a base, it has no need for added spices or fruits.”

The smirk on Leliana’s face deepened and deepened throughout this monologue. As per usual, playful banter had quickly turned into a short economic and political lecture by Josephine. Leliana did not mind, however. It was an endearing thing, especially because the ambassador’s pride and love for her country shone so genuine.

One last interruption came up, this time by the Inquisitor. She was crossing the main hall with a thick stack of books in her arms. Leliana saw her eyes light up before she even opened her mouth to call out. 

“Lady Montilyet!”

“Oh what-” Josephine had started, exasperated by the additional distraction, but Leliana saw her quickly bite her tongue when Inquisitor Lavellan approached. 

And maybe that was just Leliana’s imagination, but she could have sworn that the skin above the ambassador’s collar started showing a few pink flecks.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine chirped.

“Ambassador. Sister Leliana.” Lavellan gave her a friendly nod before turning back to Josephine. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you would have the time to discuss a personal favor I need.” She paused almost imperceptibly. “Not now, of course,” she added quickly, looking between Leliana and Josephine. “Whenever you can spare a few minutes.”

“Of course, Your Worship,” Josephine replied, still in that almost uncharacteristically cheery tone that rang alarm bells for the spymaster.

“Tomorrow? Before lunch? I won’t take much of your time, I know you’re busy.” 

How low and guttural she made her voice sound, pure velvet. She may not have grown up at court or around nobles, but that did not mean the Inquisitor did not make every effort to appear chivalrous. Which was perhaps what Leliana disliked the most about Lavellan; that chivalry seemed to be an effort to her, not something that came naturally.

“Of course, Your Worship,” Josephine said again. She realized that she had repeated herself, and the pink splotches on her neck deepened in color.

No. Leliana disliked the most that even the Inquisitor’s faux chivalry worked on Josephine, when the woman was usually able to sniff out and deflect most manipulation from others. Over two years later, and Leliana still got the feeling she was right to be concerned about the two women’s interactions. But by now it was too late to step in; the two would likely never see each other again after they left Skyhold. 

Leliana had been observing the two for a long while, and the only consolation she had was that Lavellan was superficial enough to never truly jeopardize Josephine’s integrity or happiness. She was always on the periphery, like a buzzing insect, enough to disturb the ambassador’s balance, but not intrusive enough for her to actually invite any tangible action. It was a kindness, in one way, but very cruel in others. 

“Wonderful! Ladies,” the Inquisitor said, and attempted a comedic bow to excuse herself. It didn’t go smoothly, mostly due to the multitude of books pressed against her flat chest, which Leliana supposed served the elf’s purpose of appearing sympathetic.

“A bit of light reading for the night?” Leliana asked, noting the titles of the books.

_ Water, Fire, Earth, Air, And Aether: A Study of Elemental Magic. A Practical Guide of Barriers Against Hostile Magic. Where No Mage Has Gone Before: The Fade And What We Know. A Dreamer’s Song. _

“Oh. Yes,” Lavellan replied. “Best to make use of what time I have left with the excellent library at our disposal. Well, then. Enjoy your evening.”

“You too, Inquisitor.” 

“Thank you,” was Josy’s contribution. For just a moment she watched the elf walk away before turning back to Leliana. “Shall we?”

  
  


Josephine giggled as she pulled a bottle of Antivan Red from a hidden chamber in her armoire. 

“It is not cooled, unfortunately,” she apologized in a regretful tone as she presented the bottle to Leliana, who sat comfortably on the chaise longue. “But when Dorian was taking bottle after bottle from the wine cellar, and then we had Lord and Lady Trevelyan visit…” - she clicked her tongue - “I felt it wise to stash a few of the older bottles here. They are too precious to be downed like cheap spirits. It is truly remarkable how few bottles we have had to replenish since Dorian has come into his role as Tevinter ambassador.”

“He is doing well, I hear,” Leliana replied. She swung her feet, which she had previously tucked close to her behind on the chaise longue, down to the floor and reached for the wine glasses on the low table in front of her. “His stern approach and views are making him a few enemies, but nothing his wit and charms can’t cancel out in new alliances.” She held the glasses towards Josephine, who by now had opened the bottle and began pouring.

“That is good to hear. But now - no more talk of work. There. And now tell me again how Côte de Coeur compares, I dare you.”

Leliana, still sipping, raised her hand to signal defeat. “Ah,” she sighed. “Not as sweet as I prefer, but beautiful. You picked well, Josy.”

“I should think so.” Clearly pleased with herself, she finally sat down in a heavy, elegant armchair to the bard’s right. She closed her eyes, sighed, and leaned her head back. “Oh, I am so looking forward to finally having a different Antivan wine for each dinner in a week!”

“You will be leaving soon?”

“Well.” Josephine opened her eyes and moved her head to look at Leliana. “Sooner or later we will all leave Skyhold. I will of course smooth the Inquisition’s last days, and afterwards… it shall be painful to leave this place, but I feel it is for the best. There are new ventures waiting for me in Antiva.”

“And Adorno,” Leliana added.

“Indeed.” A feather-light smile played on Josephine’s face. Contentment. It was nice to see.

“How is he faring?”

“He wrote that he misses me terribly and is looking forward to my return. He also wrote about some changes he has made to our new estate… I only hope he consulted my Yvette. He has an excellent taste, but some of his creations are a bit outdated…”

Leliana watched as her friend drifted off in thought, circling the fingertip of her index on the rim of her glass. She always got tipsy so easily. And she often either completely got lost within herself and her pondering, or she grew chatty and uninhibited. Both moods usually lasted a while. Against her friend’s expectations, however, Josephine snapped out of it within a few moments. 

“What is your plan?” she asked Leliana out of the blue. “You never told me.”

And if it’d been up to Leliana, she wouldn’t. She felt herself clamming up, suddenly tense.

“I might acquire a small estate, perhaps in Val Royeaux. Retire, the way people expect me to. Keep working in a more subtle manner and observe what happens in the world,” she replied.

Josephine stared at her, either to probe her for some truth she wished to see, or because the alcohol was taking effect and she had trouble tearing her eyes away. No matter the intent, Leliana returned the gaze with casual nonchalance. Finally, Josephine blinked and took another generous sip. She closed her eyes to enjoy it properly.

“And besides that?” she asked afterwards.

“What do you mean? What else would there be?”

Leliana knew that Josy was asking out of friendly concern. Most of her life had been nothing but moving around, continuously spinning in circles to chase this or that purpose. Working at Skyhold was providing her with some geographical stability, but her mind still ran at the same rapid pace to juggle everything that needed to be considered, planned, and get done. It should be easy to plan the future, with all the connections and resources at her fingertips, and freedom close enough to taste on her tongue. She had given years over years in the service of Thedas. It would be justifiable to settle down.

Yet she could not. 

“What about… the Hero of Ferelden?” Josephine asked, and turned Leliana’s gut to ice. “I know you have been exchanging letters with her these past few years. You obviously know how to contact her… and you always said you wanted to reunite eventually, once things calmed down. Things have been calm, with the exception of the Exalted Council. What happened?”

Air got stuck halfway in Leliana’s throat.

How could she possibly explain… admit to herself even…

Had this been Josephine’s plan? To get her comfortable and filled with wine to ask such questions?

A venomous anger coiled in her chest. But she reminded herself that Josy didn’t mean to cross any boundaries. In a friendship like theirs, such topics should not be off limits. Maker knew that Leliana was aware of almost every detail in Josy’s life.

“ _ My love and I are never truly apart. When this is all over, I will join her again. And this time, nothing will come between us. _ ”

A promise she had made to herself, and her love, and the Inquisitor. And yet she was still here. Caged up here in the mountains, though by what she couldn’t tell. 

She had learned that whatever the future might hold, that the Maker did not foresee a peaceful life for her. There was never no crisis, there was never an absence of loss, so how could she involve her love in all this? Whatever happiness was to be found with Shkera, it would not last, and that perhaps was the thought that hurt her heart more than the distance between them.

During her worst nights, Leliana saw painful memories in the shadows of her chamber. She felt herself trapped in a room with no door, and all the walls showed etchings of past pain and grief. Electricity was buzzing within her with nowhere to escape, and she thought of tearing herself into little pieces to give it a way out.

She had been accustomed to that feeling, once. When it had been a frequent companion in her day-to-day life. It was one of the reasons she had enjoyed being a bard; she was transferring that energy to something else, tickled by the excitement and danger of the profession. That moment of calm after she had finished a job, when her spirit stood still and the walls were just walls. It was everything. But it never lasted, and soon she would crave the next assignment. Which Marjolaine only too happily supplied.

In Lothering’s chantry, the walls had been replaced by colorful windows. Leliana had been at peace, finally. Balanced, bathed in the light of the Maker. Until the Blight broke out, and darkness quenched the light. She could not,  _ would not _ sit by silently, and praying while people were dying. Not when she knew she was capable of helping, not when she knew it was His wish. Leliana had believed she was chosen. 

The travelling and the trials in the following months kept the energy trapped within her at bay. Only on few occasions did she scream into her pillow when she was alone and her companions were sleeping.

In her love’s company, she had never felt that urge. Leliana had been convinced, and still was, that the Grey Warden had been sent by the Maker. She appeared, as if she was stepping out of a tale into reality, in a dusty tavern and changed everything. The one bright light floating above the chaos of the world, guiding the companions through every maze, and Leliana out of emotional turmoil. In spite of everything that needed to be done, she had made the time to find Marjolaine and stand by her friend’s side.

“ _ I trust Leliana. No matter what you say _ ,” she had said firmly in the face of Marjolaine’s accusations.

Never before had Leliana stood between two people, of which one told her she was worthless, and the other showed her she was not. 

And Leliana had calmed her racing heart and found strength in the body next to hers. 

Marjolaine had her caught, had her tortured. Made her into discarded inconvenience, a plaything of others. Only now, much later, did Leliana understand that irreparable damages had been done by what she had gone through. Some of the etchings in the walls were permanent, and she would see them regardless of how much light the windows let in. But in the right company, sitting with her in that room and giving her comfort, they faded. Love could do that. 

There was stability to be found in the embrace of her lover, sweetness and care in the kisses Shkera planted on Leliana’s cheeks and forehead when they were alone in their tent. Her love helped her accept all sides of herself and not weigh them against each other. The Maker loved the downcasts and the sinful, the wretched and the depraved. And her faith was pure. So why not use her Maker-given talents? If she was using them to do His work? Would he not love her just the same?

Once again she felt at peace. And when the archdemon was defeated, and her love had stumbled off it’s back, victorious, Leliana had been so sure she had found something that would last.

The Maker had other plans, however. Her love would not accept the price of the Grey Wardens. She had to find a cure, and Leliana supported her in this. She was going to help if she could. Then, of course, Divine Justinia called on her. And she owed it to her to answer the call. Leliana never intended for her work to go on this long. She was never to be separated from her love for years on end.

She often felt guilty and always wondered of Shkera would even want to see her now, after all this time. And now… that goal they’d set seemed close enough to touch. She could barely bring herself to comprehend it. She would be able to send the letter she had written so often in her mind.

_ The Inquisition is coming to an end. Meet me, my love. I am finally coming to you. Nothing will keep us apart.  _

But something kept her from putting the words on paper. 

There was more to do. Nothing had changed from the time she had been sitting in the Chantry’s garden, staring at the rosebush. The world was still in disarray, and she still felt restless at the thought of leaving it to itself. Would the Maker approve? Would Andraste just sit and sip wine with a friend? Remove herself from the problems of the world?

But then sometimes she asked herself: had she not given enough?

“Leliana?” Josephine’s voice was careful, soft.

The spymaster, the bard, the formerly broken stray looked up. 

“Nothing happened,” Leliana answered truthfully. “My love and I have simply…”

There were no adequate words. She knew anything that could plausibly follow those words would be a lie. And she was loath to lie to her friend.

_ I am scared, _ she could have said.  _ Scared to want something for myself. I am not the woman, the soft girl I used to be. What if my love does not know me anymore? _

_ And what if _ , she could have said, _ Maker guide me, what if I am meant to give away pieces of myself until I am no more? If I cannot sit still, with all that’s haunting me? _

“I will write her.” She pressed the words out of her mouth as if they were not her own. “I have yet to tell her…-”

_ That I need her to save me again. _


	7. I raised myself - My legs were weak

The mysterious package was in place when Sera checked. Carefully stashed between where the pillar met the wall, hidden by a curtain of ivy. She didn’t know what was inside, except that it was payment for her last Red Jenny mission, but she hadn’t expected anything but a pouch of coin. Looked like the baker’s apprentice had smuggled some delicious goods to give to her, too. Those were her favorite jobs. Money was good, but food was almost better.

Before she would inspect the things she’d gotten, Sera carried it off, though. Back to the abandoned house where the Red Jenny base was. People who go together need a place to stay together, that much she’d learned with the Inquisition.

It was still somewhat early in the morning, so most of her Jennies would be sleeping. But Sera liked waking up early every now and then, cause it was homey when all the merchants set up in the morning, and Denerim smelled like bread. And the piss nobles hadn’t crawled out of their beds yet and people were in a better mood.

Sera crossed the market square and turned right into one of the dead-end streets. At the end of the dead-end street was a house that probably belonged to somebody, but whoever it was didn’t give a shit about it. It was falling apart, roof leaking, floor-boards broken. Not the best place, but it was a place. Helping people didn’t make a lot of sovereigns, unless you had a Josie to trick nobles out of their coin.

She missed her little nook at Herald’s Rest. Her stuff didn’t look nearly as good in the broken down cabinet here as it had in the one in Skyhold. She missed Skyhold. But it was good. This was good, too. 

Sera made her way into the house’s modest kitchen and placed the package on the table. She inspected the knife that was already laying on there, found a few streaks of butter, and wiped it on her shirt to get it nice and clean before severing the package’s twine and unfolding the parchment wrapped around it. The contents were in a wooden box, which was the first clue that something about it was unusual. No baker’s apprentice would just have a spare wooden box lying around.  

Sera blinked suspiciously at the box. Then she crouched down until her eyes were just above the table top, and slowly, slowly, opened it a crack. But nothing stinging or venomous or yucky came out. Still suspicious, Sera raised herself a little and opened the lid further. She sniffed to figure out if there was any weird gas coming from it, but all she got was a scent of yeast and sweetness.

At last, she was standing again and fully snapped back the lid. And gasped.

Eight beautiful, fat, honey-glazed little cakes were sitting in two rows of fours inside of the box, separated by a sheet from a leather pouch that clinked when Sera lifted it out. But what she really cared about were the cakes.

They were yummy-looking, golden-brown little things with purple sugar flowers sitting in the glaze. She remembered seeing ones like that, and she remembered stuffing her face with ones like that. But not since she had last been -

Where the pouch had sat, there was a folded note.

 

_For the best Jenny. Same time, same place next week. Hope you enjoy. Figured you might miss them. Teetness._

 

Sera’s cheeks glowed red. 

The Inquisitor hadn’t been her Teetness for a long time, but she still signed it. In a friendly way, not a not-friendly way. She knew Sera had Widdles now. Probably did it cause maybe she didn’t want Sera to get shit from the other Jennies for getting/ liking fancy little cakes. Easier to say they were payment for some pranks.

Without thinking, she stuffed one of them in her mouth until her cheeks strained to bulge any further. It hurt, and it brought some tears to her eyes, but they were so good.

Yeasty and a little salty and very sweet and smokey and honey and puffy. So yummy. She _had_ missed them. And she missed the Inquisition, just a tiny bit.

 

-more Jenny stuff for bakers. Best rewards (scratched out)

-find better place for baked reward

\- there better not be bugs on it. Ew! (scratched out) No bugs!

-send letter to Teetness? Friends are friends are friends

-share cakes with Widdles, no one else

 

*

 

“ _Stiff and immovable, maybe she had turned to stone. But her heart is still beating, pumping, working against the cold. If only there was someone there, anybody, to help her move and tell her she’s alive-_ ”

“Quiet, Cole. This isn’t fair!”

He felt her hatred flaming high, fury over the invasion into her innermost workings. Anger blanketing insecurity, covering hurt pride and guilt over it, that she was no longer blocked from his talents...

His twirling blades came from the side, a kind gesture, come to think of it. He could have easily attacked from behind and endet the spar. This way, he gave her a chance. 

Lavellan blocked his right dagger with her own, and stepped backwards to the direction from which he had appeared. Their bodies were aligned this way, and Cole would have to spin to find a new angle. He did so, too quickly, and in a burst of panic Lavellan sheathed her dagger and grabbed a pinch of powder from her belt. 

“Boo! No good!” Rainier yelled from the stone he had planted himself on. 

Cole’s pale blue eyes darted around the lower courtyard like a lizard’s. As the young man turned on the spot, he watched for everything and nothing. Not fixing his gaze on anything for too long, just letting information pour onto him. This way any attempts at flanking were less likely to take effect, and he might just catch a glimpse of where the Inquisitor was moving beforehand. 

His head spun around when he heard the sound of impact right behind him, and as soon as he saw that it had been a small stone hitting the dirt, he realized he’d fallen for a trick.

Lavellan reappeared, crouching near his feet, and before Cole could jump away she was leaning down on her forearms and had already moved to get momentum with her legs; the other rogue felt her calves hitting his shins, and suddenly he was falling forward. 

“Ho!” Rainier exclaimed and started clapping. 

Cole was panting. Partially out of surprise and partially because his elbows had gotten the worst of it and the ground had hit a very specific point and caused his bones to sing. But when he looked to his right to see how Lavellan was faring, she didn’t look any more of a winner. The stunt had taken it out of her, and instead of quickly getting back up into a fighting stance, she had simply rolled out of the way and was breathing heavily into the morning air. 

“That was good,” he smiled, and for a moment didn’t think she’d heard his quiet voice. “That is something to practice.”

Lavellan nodded, but remained where she lay. Still quieting her chest. 

“You two alright over there?” Rainier called over. 

Cole lifted his hips and jumped into a stand. He felt for Lavellan, and could tell that what emotions had carried her through the match had sunk back into the depths from which they had come. She felt smooth like a wooden chest. 

“I have to go,” he said just loud enough for the other man to hear, but he paused for a moment. 

Lavellan turned her pale green eyes to him. “Thank you,” she said, and this time it was Cole nodding. He then walked over to the well where his hat was hanging by the bucket and stalked off towards the upper courtyard. 

Heavy steps approached the elf, and Lavellan closed her eyes to feel them. The vibrations of the moving soil against her skull. 

“Need a hand getting up?” she heard him say after he came to a halt by her head.

“I’m fine,” she said and opened her eyes. Rainier’s voice was so pleasing to her. How often had she had half a mind to ask him to simply tell her stories so she could listen to him, and maybe fall asleep. She never did, though, and she wouldn’t ask now. All she did was throw a wicked grin straight up where the burly man was hovering above her. “You could lay down next to me if you wanted. It is quite cooling down here in the grass.” 

“I think I’m rested enough, thanks.”

She smiled at his slightly sarcastic tone.“Sure?” she said to keep playing into the bit she had started. “We would be the talk of Skyhold.”

Rainier smirked, and his eyes showed an amused twinkle. “Which I’m sure you would greatly enjoy, my lady.”

“I’ll take it over the pitiful looks any day” she shot back. Lavellan realized only after the words had left her mouth that they sounded far less joking than she had intended. And the twinkle in Rainier’s eyes died right there. He was serious all of the sudden, and serious was the last thing she wanted to be right now.

With a sigh she lifted her only remaining hand, and the sobered man helped her stand back up. Lavellan started slapping her thighs to get some of the dust and grass to come off of her leggings. 

“In the mood for a spar with me?” he asked, clearly to change the subject. 

“In the mood for an ale?” she asked back, only raising her head while continuing what she was doing.

“Before midday?”

The sighed again. Only that now it was an exaggerated, theatrical one. “Oh, must you always be so reasonable. There is nobody left I can drink with in the middle of the day.”

She didn’t like the look he gave her. A mixture of concern and… like he was searching for something in her voice or on her face. What she disliked the most, however, how persistent that look was. 

Thom saw this, but he did not relent until the Lady Inquisitor finally started visibly squirming under it.

“I’ll go sit down for a bit,” she said a bit too abruptly and started staggering off across the lower courtyard. Thom followed her, out of true concern for his friend, but also in part out of habit. At last she settled down on the steps to one of the guard towers, across from where the healer’s camp used to be way back in the day before the renovation of the hut between the tavern and the quartermaster’s lodgings.

He wondered for a bit if she minded that he came along, but on the other hand she had not said anything to discourage him. And so he sat down next to her as she was staring at the ground a few feet ahead of him.

It was difficult to say how the Inquisitor was doing, nowadays. She had rediscovered a drive similar to the one she had had during the first year of the Inquisition. She was buzzing about the way she always had, never spending too much time in one place. Talking to merchants, talking to soldiers, talking to healers, talking to Chantry sisters, talking, talking, talking. Continuously asking for updates, about how people’s days were going, whether there were any complaints, any needs, anything. Walking around the fortifications, staring off between the mountains the way Thom was used to her doing. 

But at the same time… there were bouts of… something that he could read off her face in one instance or another. Melancholy. Resentment, maybe. At any rate he could not imagine that whatever had kept her confined in her own quarters for so long had simply disappeared. He now regretted not having gone there more often. But it had been the first time he had ever witnessed the Inquisitor completely withdrawing herself from any form of company. And so he had figured that maybe she just needed time to sort herself out. Sometimes solitude brought clarity. Now he wondered if that had been the wrong course of action. Lady Lavellan was not him. And as far as he saw, she had no great personal failing or crime to contemplate. 

“You do know that I am here, should you require someone to listen, Inquisitor,” he said to break the silence after a few minutes.

“I appreciate that,” she returned flatly.

A clear rejection, judging by her tone. But Thom was set on not letting things go for once. People’s business was their own, unless they wished to air it. But a friendship also meant that one could fall apart and see each other’s ugly sides without having to feel like the lesser for it. Lady Lavellan had done this for him, after the business in Val Royeux. He had been nasty to himself, and crude to her, and yet still she saved him from certain death and accepted him into the Inquisition as a free man.

“It must be difficult for you,” Thom started once again, his tone calm and empathetic.

The Inquisitor’s back shot up straight. She glared at him, the lines of her face a cage for barely contained anger. “What is that supposed to mean? What are you on about?”

“All I was saying was that if you want to talk about it, I’m here,” Thom said carefully.

“Talk about which?” Lady Lavellan answered. Such bitterness in her voice. “About how my gods are not gods? Or about how I’ve been worshipping the first people to enslave my kind since I was little? Or rather how Solas is preying on elves who are so desperate for a sense of identity and belonging, who have been mistreated for so long, that some of them would even sacrifice all life in Thedas for a slim chance of restoration?” She scoffed, and her back rounded out again as she slightly slumped forward. “Or… whatever.”

“Yes, that would do for a start.” He would not let himself be deterred by the attitude that the elf was putting forward.

Lady Lavellan tossed her hand up in defeat. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if anyone could understand. Even my clan… who would believe me? No other Dalish has seen what I’ve seen. All I have is stories, and if Fen’Harel in person comes to them and reveals himself, promising freedom… who am I? To tell them not to follow? Who would listen?”

“You’re the Inquisitor,” Thom interjected softly.

“ _Former_ Inquisitor. And even with this?” She raised her stunted arm and shook her head. “I have nothing to prove who I am. I can’t open a rift and then close it to show them I’m me. I would travel through Ferelden and Orlais, and the Free Marches, to convince who I can to not follow Solas. But what would be the point? Fen’Harel may be the god of misfortune and deceit, but my people are starved. When he comes to them, tells them his side of the story, with his soft words and kind eyes, most of them will follow him into anything. He is the first link to a past we have been aching to know. They will destroy this world because it has harboured nothing but pain for them. What do they care that there may be more waiting for them once the Veil falls? As long as they get to find out where we came from. Solas has a _plan_ , after all.” Her last words were a mockery of what he’d told her after she’d reached him in the world beyond mirrors, and repeated like that they sounded like venom.

Thom kept silent. The Inquisitor lifted her other arm to wipe the residual sweat from her hairline. 

“I’m tired.”

“I know.” 

“But I am _fine_ ,” she she said in a fierce, bristling tone. As if she were desperate to convince him, or herself. So much weight shoved into three short words. The Inquisitor paused and frowned. “I am fine,” she repeated, gentler. “Most of the time I am. I wake up, I get up, I… plan. But sometimes… some _days_ …” A sound related to both a groan and a sigh escaped her. 

“Some days are harder than others, and it all comes back at once,” Thom completed for her. “I know that feeling.” He waited for a few seconds, to see if there was any reaction from his friend. But aside from the deepening of her frown, there was none. She was still not looking at him, and so he continued: “You have been through more than most other people in Thedas. You have made decisions that rocked this world. It’s not fair that you had so much pain and responsibility placed on her shoulders.”

Lady Lavellan blinked slowly, and he saw her press her lips together and twist. Then she leaned forward, rubbed the back of her neck and kept her finger tips buried in her hair, with her elbow resting on her thigh. She wasn’t looking at Thom, she hadn’t been this entire time since she’d started talking.

“I’m glad you were there at the Winter Palace,” she finally said, her voice somewhat lower in volume than before. “And I’m glad you’re here now, too.”

“I am where you need me, my lady,” he replied warmly. 

“There’s no need to address me that way, you know.” She turned to look at him. “I’m not any more higher-born than you are, and I won’t be the Inquisitor for much longer. Lavellan will be enough. Or my first name, if you want.”

He sighed.

“Old habits die hard, I suppose. I hope you will forgive me if I do slip up once or twice.”

“Consider yourself forgiven,” she said with a sliver of mocking. When she met his eyes and saw the mild disapproval, she recoiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it as harshly as it came out.”

“Consider yourself forgiven,” he retorted, and to his delight, made her smile.

it reminded him that she had given out smiles like candies for children, for a time. Sweet ones, wicked ones, sad ones, alluring ones, sly ones, deceiving ones, silly ones, happy ones. Those had become rare. Another thing to regret in the latest ordeal.

But it felt good, this moment, sitting next to her. With her. He had never had cause to regret joining the Inquisition when he did, and he had never truly regretted gaining the Inquisitor’s friendship. There had been ups and down, and strange moment where things had hung in the balance. But this was it, now. A mutual, sturdy friendship. 

And Thom would not have traded it for anything for the world.

 


	8. Don't let me in with no intention to keep me

A determined knock pulled Josephine out of her streak of focused writing. She wrinkled her brow a little-

“Yes?” she called.

-and relaxed her face as soon as she saw that it was Lady Lavellan who entered. 

“Your Worship,” Josephine said to greet her. 

“I hope this is not an inopportune moment,” the Inquisitor returned politely as she crossed the room with a stack of documents in her arms. “I wanted to bring you the signed letters in person. And as I recall, you said it would be alright for me to come by before noon. Is that still the case?”

“Of course! Of course, Inquisitor.” She cleared her throat as silently as she could and moved the ink pot and papers around on her desk to make space. For what, she did not know, but it just felt like she should be doing something with her hands while the woman was still walking over. In the process of which she smeared the letter she had been writing to Marquis du Wiscotte. She silently swore to herself and made sure to remember to rewrite it later. But for now, she had other worries. “What can I do for you, Your Worship?” Lady Lavellan placed the signed letters on of the table free spaces and took a seat in the luscious chair across from Josephine. “You said you were in need of a favor?”

“I did,” she nodded, and gave a tiny sigh. 

She blinked, looked down, and Josephine saw the midday sun draw shadows of the elf’s lashes on her cheek. _Oh my._

“I’m not sure how to say this,” Lady Lavellan begann, opening her eyes. She gave her that clear, intense look that left Josephine unable to look elsewhere. “I have come to wonder, lately, where I would stand with the Inquisition disbanded. I have a purpose, I have… options. I am aware that this is fairly late for me to start wondering about, with everything that is already changing. But I was thinking about where I would… stay.

“I have an estate in Kirkwall now, thanks to Varric, but I have grown fond of Orlais and Ferelden. All the time I spent travelling them…” Her voice grew a touch wistful. 

With a clear assignment close at hand, Josephine snapped out of her temporary spell of fogginess and distraction.

“And you would like for an estate in either of those countries, I presume?” she filled in the blanks, and started searching for a blank piece of paper she could take notes on. “That shan’t be a problem, Your Worship, I am sure we can find something tasteful, maybe in Val Royeaux, that will not exceed our current capital. I might have to move some money around, but certainly some nobles would be honored to give us a favorable price for the chance to sell their estate to the Inquisitor-”

“Not an estate, per se,” Lady Lavellan interrupted Josephine’s furious note-taking. “Not a mansion. Just… a cabin.”

Josephine had already started setting down key-words and names of people to contact, but she halted mid-writing.

“A cabin,” the ambassador repeated in surprise, the quill still in hand. She did not know what to say. “How… I mean-… What specifics did you have in mind for the… cabin?”

The elf in front of her never broke eye contact. Her expression was soft, malleable. 

“I don’t need much,” she explained. “Maybe somebody has a hut for hunting trips that they don’t use as often as they might want. All I need is a small house, about a day’s walk from a village or town where I can have my correspondences sent and buy necessities. A body of water, preferably moving, nearby. A stream, or a river, from which to get fresh water. I don’t need stables, since I don’t plan to keep a horse. But I want an oven. A big one.”

Josephine had trouble processing all this. She could not picture the graceful, polished Lady Lavellan in a hut in the middle of nowhere. What would she be doing all day? Baking bread?

“An oven?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Big enough to to sleep on top of in the winter, and to warm water for baths. And if the house had something akin to a cellar to store things in a cool environment, that would be wonderful.”

The ambassador laid her quill aside and looked at her friend in concern.

 The Inquisitor had obviously thought this through to a certain extend. But still… her, alone in the wilds? What if something happened to her? If a beast tore her apart, or an assassin came to end her? Who would know before weeks, or even months had passed? Who would be able to trace what had happened to her, if all clues degraded with the time it took people to find out she was dead or missing?

“Are you… you are certain, Inquisitor?” she asked carefully.

She smiled. “I am.”

Silence hung in Josephine’s office as she thought things over. 

Of course the Inquisitor would not be lost in the woods. She was of the Dalish people, had lived most of her life as a nomad wandering through forests. She had learned how to trek, how to hunt, how to make the most of what she had. Josephine did not question her capabilities to sustain herself in a remote region on her own. But regardless…

“You look worried, Josephine,” Lady Lavellan remarked after a while. 

She failed to find words to express her discomfort.

“I suppose… I don’t understand, Your Worship.”

The Inquisitor turned her face to look through the window. The sun hit her higher-placed features and illuminated them. The straight bridge of her nose, its tip, her cheekbones over which the vallaslin curved, her brow, her small chin. The heart-shaped cupid’s bow of her upper lip.

“I guess I just need a place to retreat to for a little while,” she said. Her voice sounded wistful again. “Wherever I go, be it Denerim to join Sera and her Red Jennies, or Kirkwall’s Hightown and then mingle with the nobility…” The elf turned her gaze back on her. “I will be among people that I don’t think I belong to,” she finally said. 

If she was honest, Josephine could see her point. She tried picturing Lady Lavellan at a social gathering of Kirkwall’s nobility, enjoying herself, but she couldn’t. Then she imagined Lady Lavellan jumping over rooftops and laying traps for depraved people. And as exciting as that picture was, she still couldn’t see the Inquisitor be happy with that. At least not for long. But those two couldn’t be her only options, could they?

“But what would you be doing, in that cabin?” she asked, looking at the paper under her hands. “One day’s walk from any civilization?”

Lady Lavellan shrugged. 

“Read,” she prompted airily. “Plant crops, hunt, practice my combat techniques. Swim in the river, lay nude in the sunshine, sleep next to a golden halla?”

A blush crept up Josephine’s neck and chest. Now that did not sound as intimidating as what she had pictured earlier when the Inquisitor had said _cabin_. In fact, it sounded quite romantic. 

“I will look into it,” Josephine promised, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. She directed her eyes down on the paper and scribbled furiously to avoid betraying her thoughts. “Cabin, oven, river, cellar, one day’s walk from a village or town. I will initiate contact with nobles that are known to hunt as soon as possible.” 

She cleared her throat again, when a thought hit her. It was a sensitive one, and she wondered how it had not occurred to her sooner. Josephine raised her head.

“Inquisitor,” she said with hesitation. Lady Lavellan’s eyes widened as she waited for the question. “What about your clan? You were planning to visit them, I heard.”

The other woman’s lips parted, and she sat up straight. Where there had been the hint of a playful smile, there was now a touch of resignation.

“Visit, yes. But I have no intention to stay with them.” 

A question unasked hung between them. Lady Lavellan sighed deeply, raising her hand to play with the rings adorning the shell of her ear. She was staring at the heavy wooden desk in front of her for a moment. 

Josephine folded her hands over one another, waiting. It was obvious to her that this topic was no easy one to discuss for her friend, and so she remained silent, but ready to give out compassion at the drop of a hat.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to do with myself,” Lavellan finally confessed, sounding agitated. “I have not lived among my kind for a long time. A lot of things have happened, I have put a lot of work into… into fitting in. With you. With everybody. Into being... “ She sighed again, although now it sounded like a growl. She dropped her hand and looked at the woman sitting opposite from her. “I don’t know… without my Faith… I don’t know if I can rightly consider myself Dalish anymore.”

Josephine opened her mouth to speak, but then closed again. There was no polite answer to this, and she had no reply. 

She was not Dalish herself. She wasn’t even elven. And so she could not say what constituted the particular Dalish identity, or being Dalish as a whole.  All she knew that in front of her was a woman who had been ripped from the life she had known, thrown into a place in the world that was absolutely singular, been expected to cope with things she had never had any idea of, in an environment that was foreign to her. And now, that unique place in the world would no longer be needed and thus eradicated, and all the skills and all the development of the recent years were… what? For naught? That could not be.

A fiercely passionate part of Josephine longed to invite her friend to to join her in Antiva, so that she could look out for her. Make sure she would never feel out of place in the world she had put so much blood into saving. Remind her that she would always have a friend in her, would always be safe, loved. Accepted as she was, aside from politics and religion that demanded her to take on one role or another. They would travel through Antiva, delight in the beautiful scenery. Eat in lovely little bistros and enjoy the Antivan cuisine. Visit the opera, read books side by side in beautiful gardens, go to prominent artists’ exhibitions. The vision had Josephine’s heart jump up to her throat. There was nothing she longed for as greedily in this moment as she did for this to come true.

“Inquisitor,” she choked out, feeling like a dam about to split open. 

But she looked at her friend, and her heart sank. 

Amaryll Lavellan. Her ashen hair was half pulled back, shining pale and cold. Her slim and hooded eyes, tinted in that dull and dusty green. Unassuming eyes, but looking out so earnestly on the world. Cheekbones barely pronounced, but there and accentuated by the vallaslin climbing up her temples. Her nose, not slim, but perfectly centering the face. Her lips, not thin, not thick, but alluring in shape and width. A strong chin, a defined jaw, retracting from the softness of her cheeks. Her ears, long and curved, a red jewel earring sitting in each of her lobes, below several silver rings. 

It was difficult for Josephine to believe that at first upon the Herald entrance into the Inquisition, he had hardly seen or acknowledged the woman. And now, just the thought of spending time with her outside of work and impending doom made her throat close up with want. That night at the opera in Halamshiral had been the most wonderful time. She had not been able to cope with how lucky she had been to spend an evening with her friend, wishing later in bed she could go back to the afternoon and relive it again. She had been tossing in turning in her sheets, restless, wracking her mind with _what ifs_. 

“I didn’t mean to put this on you, Josephine. I apologize,” Lady Lavellan said after what felt like an eternity of silence between them. She moved as if to stand up and leave, clearly thinking that she had made Josephine uncomfortable by sharing her thoughts.

“No, don’t!” Josephine said quickly. “Please.” She breathed in, out. “Please.”

The Inquisitor drew her brows close together, and sat back down, waiting, while Josephine gathered her wits.

“You are what is in your heart, Inquisitor,” she was able to say at last. Softly. She looked upon her friend, gently reaching out with her words and her eyes as if to tenderly touch her. Silently screaming her feelings at the woman, willing her to understand Josephine’s heart. “And you are, without a doubt, a good woman. You have been kind and graceful in your dealings with others whenever you could. You have helped friends and strangers in need alike. You have led this organization to success. And I… I think… that is something no one can take away from you.” 

There. There it was.

Lady Lavellan’s expression softened immeasurably. There was a tender affection, a pull in her eyes that made Josephine feel like she could die this instant. Her breath hitched when Amaryll leaned forward and reached out, placed her hand on Josephine’s. 

“You are always so good to me, Josephine,” she said softly, low. “You do so much. How often do people ask you how you are? Whether you need help?” The ambassador’s mouth dried out in panic, her tongue went numb. A mistake. She had committed a terrible mistake. “There is nothing that happened at the Exalted Council that I regret more than the distress it caused you. It pained me to see you like that. You have carried the Inquisition to heights that nobody could have predicted, and you do not get near enough praise for it. Please know that no matter where life takes us, I will always let you know how to reach me. And should you ever find yourself in need of help, I will be there. Regardless of where I am or what I am doing. It may be the only thing I can do to repay you.”

She wanted to swallow. She could not. She wanted to blink. She could not. She wanted to scream. She could not. 

All she could do was rip her hand from under Amaryll’s, abruptly spring to her feet and run. 

  


Amaryll stood up after the ambassador had so suddenly jumped from her seat. She was confused, taken aback.

“Josephine!” she called, but the other woman had already left for the Main Hall.

Just as she moved to follow the ambassador to find out what she had done wrong, Leliana stepped in the room. 

Amaryll had never been truly afraid of the Inquisition’s spymaster, in spite of the stories and the worried whispers. As a Dalish elf, she had not heard of all the things that had happened under Divine Justinia’s left hand. Nor had she cared. She had come to respect Leliana based only on how she had experienced her after their first meeting, had been in awe of her methods. 

But this was the first time she was really, truly frightened.

“I have asked you, Inquisitor,” she said slowly, walking towards Amaryll. She sounded tense, deliberately contained, dark. “-to treat Josephine with kindness. You have danced on that line again and again. And now you have stepped over it. I will not ask again. When you have something to discuss with Lady Montilyet, it will in the future go through messengers, and me. You will _not_ be alone with her. You will _not_ be paying her compliments. You will _not_ be asking favors of her. You will _not_ play with her feelings. And this will be the last warning you shall receive. Is that _understood_?” 

All words were wiped from Amaryll’s memory. And so she could not do anything but nod. 

“Good,” Leliana said, decreasing the tension in her tone. “Good day, Inquisitor.”

And with that, she spun around on the spot and walked out. Leaving the stunned Inquisitor stand where she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Leave a kudos if you did, or your thoughts down below. I would really appreciate it!


	9. It will come back

“ _Do you know who first leapt to arms? Our workers. They were so proud of our cause. Corypheus simply cut them down. So much screaming after the first blast of fire. So many people turned to ash._ ”

Josephine’s anxieties about Haven were what’d been close to heart for most people who had made it to Skyhold. Fire and ash, hurried escape, and red, red, red everywhere. 

Not so the Herald.

 

Amaryll awoke with a start, alert as someone who had just broken through the surface of a cold lake. 

She was ready to fight, to go, to run, to hide. Had anyone asked her who she was at that very moment, she would not have been able to tell. Nor where she was.

All she knew was that she was staring at a menacingly bright orange-red something that screamed of danger, and its dark streaks. She wanted to move and yell, but her body felt numb, bound, and cold, and so she thought herself captured.

Had her mind not been tumbling with a searing, drumming headache, she would have realized sooner that what she saw was not some templar abomination, but the back of her eyelids - the dark streaks being her own blood vessels. The elf’s terror did not subside, however, as she still could not bring herself to move. 

It felt as if a terrible chill had crawled deep inside of her and exchanged her bones for stone. Not a fingertip, nor her feet or neck could be moved. She was petrified. And she had no recollection of how she had gotten wherever she was, or if there was any living being around her.

Amaryll would have opened her eyes if she had not been so scared. Whatever was bright enough to almost blind her through closed eyelids was not worth looking at. Instead she put all of her weak efforts into feeling her body, assessing if she could regain control over it. She called on different muscles, urging them to move.

Her limbs were a lost cause. To move her legs she needed her abdominal muscles, and to lift her arms she required her shoulders and back. Neither of which she could even feel. Dread took root in her mind as she considered that she had indeed been captured. Or worse: that she had broken every bone worth mentioning in her body, or at least severed several crucial nerves, and had awoken only to witness her own, painful death. All by herself, buried under a mountain. 

It was then that she finally, even if punished by her headache, managed to cough through her sore, dry throat, and then scream. Only that her scream was an empty croak, and no one responded.

No one was there. 

No help, no salvation, no merciful blade to end the tremendous pain that came to life from different areas of her body. Her back and her neck, her abdomen and her ribs, her hips and her left ankle. 

Pitiful, abandoned Herald of Andraste, paralyzed in a cave of ice. Glorious, moving Herald of Andraste, freezing to death under a town of barely cooled ashes.

 

This was also how Amaryll woke up weeks after she had made it out of that cave, stumbling blindly through the Frostback’s icy winds. After mere chance, or maybe the Creators, had Cassandra and Cullen find her. After Solas had led them to Skyhold, and she was assigned some of the biggest quarters in the highest tower.

A part of her violently ripped from the edge of deep sleep, she’d wake up choking, frozen to her bones by cold or fear. It was better when she was in a tent, travelling, listening to Iron Bull’s or Sera’s snoring from two tents over. But in Skyhold…

 

One of those nights the memory was too much. The sleep paralysis did not wear off for a long time, so much so that Amaryll’s heart started drumming with genuine panic. But eventually it subsided, and she was able to sit up and see that she had neglected to close the balcony doors before falling asleep, hence her chill. 

Wrapped in a down blanket, Amaryll went to close them, when she thought she saw a shadow against the liminal clouds of the dark blue sky. 

Her guts clenched at once, and her breathing sped up. She stepped on the cold balcony, straining to see what she was sure she had just recognized flying above. Spying. But the Inquisitor did not see it re-emerge from among the stars, and she ached for somebody, anybody, to stand there next to her and to tell her she’d imagined it. 

There was not a shadow of a doubt in her mind that there would be no sleep for her tonight. 

 

Thom Rainier was still more or less drunk when he awkwardly took one step after the other down the stairs to the lower courtyard. It had been a fun night, overall. A short reprieve from the generally gloomy mood in the Inquisition. There was relief at having found a seemingly safe place to stay after the horrors of Haven, but as far as he could tell nobody was able to truly relax. 

Except for that girl, Sera, maybe. The elf had energy enough for all of them combined, crackling with silliness and bad ideas and passion for her cause. Thom couldn’t help but like her, and Sera’s uninhibited, loud laughter was probably what lifted the mood at the tavern the most. That, and the challenge she set into the room for somebody to beat her at drinking a pint of ale while she was balancing on her hands. She’d made him laugh solid tears when she pulled down (or up?) the pants of the only challenger.

He had no clue as to how late into the night it was, but by his guess the sun would be rising in a few hours. Best to get some shut-eye before the next day starts. As far as he knew there was no mission planned for tomorrow, but sometimes things did come up. And there was nothing bloody worse than having to sit on a horse for hours after a night of drinking. On top of that, he was getting old. Recovery took more time nowadays.

Thom made it down the eternal stairs to the lower courtyard without incident, and he was quite proud of himself. He couldn’t wait to lay down, but didn’t love the idea of having to climb up the ladder to reach his hay loft. Eh, that would be a worry for later. 

Just before he reached the barn, he swayed right between its wooden wall and the stairs leading up to the ramparts. There was a nice bush there that he was sure wouldn’t mind a late-night watering. Just after he had finished and was tucking himself back into his breeches, he heard a tapping sound. It was regular, and light. It took him a moment, but he identified the tapping as the sound of hasty steps. Suspicious, for this late in the night.

Thom used all the stealth he had to slowly move towards the end of the staircase, just where he was able to look over it to get a picture of what was going on. Whoever was sneaking around Skyhold right now was crossing the courtyard in a straight line towards where he was standing. The soldier moved back a little, though the cover of night probably would not have given him up in the first place. Better to be safe than sorry.

Scattered moonshine was bouncing off the glaciers sitting on top of the mountains, and lent its dim light to the fortress. It allowed Thom to see that this was not a heavily armored person that was crossing the courtyard. In fact, they wore no armor at all.

They looked very small or very young, with a boney frame and loose, light clothing. Certainly too light for a night in the mountains, with the exception of their boots. Their hair was loose as well, long and pallid. Their complexion was, too. By now he was sure that it was an elf, though whether they were male or female he dared not guess, since such matters were not always obvious with their kind.

As the person was strutting closer, Blackwall hid himself further in along the stone stairs, and heard the stranger ascend. What were they doing? There was next to nothing up there, except for the Commander’s quarters... Thom’s heart started beating, preparing itself for the stress of a fight. He was alert, and damn near sober again.

He moved back to his original position, slowly, and strained his eyes to get a good look at the suspicious person’s back. Which was when he recognized them by their walk. His heart rate slowed, confusion took over.

“Inquisitor,” he said before he could stop himself.

True to her training as a rogue, the Inquisitor did not make a sound when she froze in motion. It only lasted a second, however, and she turned around with her right foot still one step above her left one. But he could tell by her tense stance that he had startled her. The Inquisitor did not see him initially, but did exhale sharply when she finally did.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she took a few relaxed steps down.

Thom did not know how to properly interpret her tone, but to him it sounded like a mixture of relief and stress. Maybe a touch confusion. 

“Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing,” he retorted. Which sounded a lot less impressive when he realized that he had not yet come out of his odd hiding place. Thom walked sideways along the staircase, avoiding the bushes and subtly cleared his throat. “So what are you doing out this late? Are you going to see Commander Cullen?”

Her expression twisted in obvious shock. 

“Why would I- _no_!” the Inquisitor replied forcefully. “I just- I-...” 

Thom had finally arrived at the foot of the staircase, and raised his head from looking down at where his feet were going to the woman towering above him. Only that she did not look as big as her title had recently made her. Closer to her now than he had previously been, he could see that she had the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth, and that eyes were glazed over. Staring down, lids lowered, into nothingness. 

Thom held his breath, feeling that she was holding back from saying something. There was tension in that rod-like body of hers. But then she exhaled, as if in his stead, and her shoulders slumped forward. 

“I simply had a dream. I came here to…” She turned her torso, looking towards where the raised sections of the fortifications were. Her tone was serious, with an infectious touch of wistfulness. “I had to… check something.”

There was a tug coming from deep inside of Thom. He remembered the generally dreary and heavy atmosphere in the tavern when he had first entered it early in the evening. It seemed the soldiers were not the only ones plagued by it. He also thought of how Sera had remedied it.

“Would you like some company while you check whatever it is you want to see?” he asked.

The Inquisitor turned back, relief swimming right on the surface of her face, and Thom knew he had done the right thing.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

Her lips moved as if she were to say something more, but no words were formed. And so Thom walked up to her, offered his arm, and together they made their way to the ramparts. They took a left once they reached the top, away from the Commander’s quarters. Thom stopped at just about the halfway point between two raised walls when the Inquisitor detached herself from his arm to step to the edge. She stood between the two and scanned the mountains, then the sky.

He wondered what it was that she was looking for in the skies. Though when he remembered that she’d had a dream, an inkling started to form. He might have asked, but… it didn’t seem right to interrupt. The darkness of night gave the illusion of security, as if it were to give a safe haven for secrets. But at the same time it felt so heavy, so sacred. He just contented himself with giving her space.

Something about the Inquisitor was off tonight. Thom had often seen her from this perspective when travelling, but this did not look like the determined woman he had gotten used to. Usually there was a certain humming drive that she emitted, as if she was ready for anything at any time. Right now, her shoulders were slumped and rounded, propped against the backdrop of the Frostback Mountains, in nothing but a nightgown and a plain robe. She looked small and she looked fragile, and above all she looked mortal. He only noticed now that it was missing how much of the Inquisitor, the Herald, was built on an air of invulnerability. Even back in Haven when she was more approachable.

He felt the same tug that he had before, only that he could place it now. 

Thom took a deep, silent breath, and stepped next to Lavellan. She did not react, simply kept on watching the sky, though some of her anxiety seemed to have dissipated.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked in a low voice, so as to not startle her again.

She did not answer right away. “No. It was nothing. Probably just a cloud. I’m sorry.”

Quiet air hung between the two for a while. Until the tug inside of Thom took over and he lifted his hand to touch his broad fingertips to her arm, just below the shoulder. Lavellan turned her head to look to the point of connection, and then up at him. He was unsure of whether he was imagining it or not, but it felt like she was leaning into the touch, and yet somehow sinking into herself. Becoming softer in a way, or maybe that was just him. In the dim light the white around her iris’ was beaming. He wanted to break eye contact, but something had caught hold of him, and it had his insides tremble with embarrassment. When she averted her gaze and stared at the stars again, he was able to drop his hand. 

They stood in silent companionship, and it was almost as if the awkward moment hadn’t happened. The atmosphere was calm, serene almost, and eventually Thom’s vague feeling of shame an guilt subsided. He was not sure what to make of it.

“I think it’s time you returned to your quarters, Inquisitor,” he suggested after a while. “It’s cold out.”

“You must be tired,” was her reply. So soft that Thom almost couldn’t make out the words. “Go to bed, Warden Blackwall. I’ll wait till dawn.”

“Why?”

Lavellan’s jaw set. She knew it, too, as she started shifting it from left to right to relax the muscles. “I don’t want to go back yet. That room has nothing but nightmares waiting for me. I’m not going back there to sit in a dark room by myself and wait for the sun to rise.”

“So instead you’ll wait for the sun to rise here? Standing around in the cold?”

The elf didn’t reply, only stared forward. But Thom could see that she was swaying a little, as if she had a hard time standing still. Probably because the low temperature and exhaustion had finally caught up with her.

This time there was no embarrassment when he got a hold of her arm. 

“Come.”

Thom felt no resistance from her as took her hand and placed it on his arm. And so he led her down the staircase they had so recently ascended, through the lower courtyard all the way to the upper one. The entire way there, both of them were quiet. It was like walking a shadow, as if he was offering his arm to the night air instead of a woman. 

“Will you stay?” she asked out of nowhere.

“Stay?” 

He stumbled over the word and almost stopped walking when the meaning and its possible implications dawned on him. Lavellan, however, never halted. Suddenly it was her who was walking him. 

“Stay,” she repeated calmly and turned her head to lay a clear and insistent gaze on him. “There’s no hidden meaning or game. I just… I need someone to stay. I won’t be able to sleep otherwise, I know it.”

Thom opened his mouth, then closed it again.

This wasn’t appropriate. Regardless of what may happen, staying overnight in the Inquisitor’s quarters was a highly suspect and scandalous thing to do. Thom did not care about what people may say about him, but the Inquisition rode on its figurehead’s reputation and reach. And she was, after all, a woman. People were watching her closely. They would know. And he would not want for her reputation to be tarnished by a ugly rumor.

“Inquisitor, this may not be-”

“Please.”

“I- I suppose I could stay a while. Until you’ve fallen asleep.”

She nodded. 

 

Lavellan welcomed Thom Rainier into her quarters without even a hint of hesitation. She showed him to the bathroom, where he washed his hands and face, and faded the taste of ale and spirits in of his mouth. When he came out, the Inquisitor was standing by the high glass doors to the balcony. 

As she walked over to the bed and settled down on one of the sides, she asked him to make himself comfortable. Rainier, against his better judgement, rid himself of his boots and doublet and went to occupy the right side of the bed, still slightly worried and uncomfortable. He was surprised when the elf grabbed hold of his arm and touched her forehead to the linnen fabric of his shirt, and knew he might not be able to leave as soon as he had hoped. Soon after Lavellan had fallen asleep, however, he stopped minding. It was comfortable, the bed and being around her. 

He realized what the tug he’d felt earlier when he was standing on the staircase below her had been, and was now. He’d come to care for the Inquisitor. As a leader, but also as a person. Ever since she had been lost in the snow he had blamed himself for not having gone with the party, knowing he would had done whatever’d been in his power to protect her life. And now he knew he would do whatever he could to protect _her_.

With this thought being the last thing on his mind, he fell asleep with one of the most powerful women in Thedas cuddled up against his arm. 

Thom awoke a half hour after dawn, much too late. By this time, Skyhold was buzzing with people going about their business and preparing things for when the important people woke up. As discreetly as he could, he dressed himself and left the Inquisitor sleeping.

This was the first time that Amaryll Lavellan invited the pretend Warden Blackwall to her bed in Skyhold. The second time, and the third time, he declined. There was never talk of it again. 

 

Amaryll was sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, surrounded by books, when she heard the knock. 

“Come in,” she called out without looking up. It was only a few more sentences until she would be finished with the paragraph; a good place for an interruption.

It was late in the day, she had already had dinner and was now simply killing time before she felt that she should go to bed. It was unusual, but did happen every now and then that messengers came to find her. Lately by Cullen in particular.

The Commander often worked late into the night and as a result sent messengers with this information or that. Replies were often returned with her explicit orders for him to lay work down for the day and rest, even though she was well aware that his bouts of late-night productivity were oftentimes connected to a particularly bad spell of pains. Over the past two weeks, this had become a common occurrence and Commander Cullen was making a very worn impression. His complexion grew pale and paler, greyer, a slump appeared that was there not so much physically as mentally, and a straining in his voice when he explained things at the war table. 

Amaryll suspected that sleep was difficult at the heights of his chronic pain, and that this was the reason he sometimes would omit it in order to spare himself the frustration. But she figured that lack of rest, and overworking himself, couldn’t possibly be a solution. Sometimes the Commander needed a little push to take care of himself. He did have the tendency to use his struggles to - what looked like - punish himself. For what, Amaryll couldn’t tell, and she did not ask. They considered each other friends, but it was not her way to press others to divulge their innermost workings. 

This, however, was not one of Cullen’s messengers. Which Amaryll realized as soon as the person that was walking up the stairs to her quarters spoke.

“Your Worship?”

At once the Inquisitor untangled her legs from their crossed position and sprung onto her feet, which in turn had the two books on her lap tumble onto the carpet. She looked at Josephine, who had just stepped on the floor, still holding on to the railing. The Antivan was flustered, wringing her hands while she was approaching Amaryll. She wasn’t looking at her, but more so kept her eyes on the carpet with an air of caution, even when she finally came to a halt several feet away from the Inquisitor.

Amaryll fished for words to say. There were too many. And seconds passed without her settling on any. Josephine lifted her gaze to meet hers.

“Inquisitor, I am sorry to disturb you at such a late hour,” she began. “But I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other day. It was not becoming of me to run off like that. The impression that must have left on you…”

“You don’t have to apologize, Jo-” _Leliana will kill you with her own two hands._ “Lady Ambassador.” Josephine, of course, picked up on the sudden change, and Amaryll could tell by the fleeting expression on her face that it was not one she liked. “I was worried...“ 

Shit. 

“I never meant to make you uncomfortable,” she finally said. 

“Oh no, you mustn’t think that, Your Worship,” Josephine shot back passionately, her eyes wide open, and took a few steps towards her. She seemed to realize that she was verging on dangerous territory again, and in an instant regained composure.

Fuck. What a mess.

“Inquisitor…” she began. But as if her speech was failing her, she broke off and left the sentence hanging mid-air.

Amaryll had no idea as to what Josephine wanted to tell her, and so she knew not how to help push the conversation forward.

“Are you sure it is a good idea, coming here?” she said jokingly. “Leliana will know. She may tear my head clean off my shoulders when she finds out.”

A wrinkle appeared between Josephine’s eyebrows. “She will not dare. This matter does not concern her, and I am perfectly capable of handling my own business. In spite of… what it may look like.”

“Nobody would doubt that,” Amaryll replied gently. “You are known to be a very capable woman.”

By the twist in Josephine’s face she knew she had said something wrong again. 

 _You will not be paying her compliments_ , she heard Leliana hiss in her ear. Oh well. It was out now. Nothing she could do about that, except for tempering her tongue in the future.

A breeze carried in from the open balcony doors, driving the curtains to slap against the wall. 

“What can I do for you, Lady Ambassador?” Amaryll asked. She kept her voice even, still gentle, but she made sure not to put too much weight on any particular word. She would be damned if she made Josephine upset again.

The Antivan hesitated.

“I came to apologize to you,” she started from the top, as if she was rewriting a letter that she'd found a mistake in. She was avoiding eye contact again, staring at her feet. Humble, solemn. Stern. “My sudden departure was far from gracious, or professional. I am sorry to have had you see such an emotional outburst on my part. The end of this project… it is more to me than I have previously assumed. I did not mean to burden you with that. I hope you can forgive me, Your Worship.”

She looked up. There was so much to read in her expression. It was overflowing with emotions, and it reminded Amaryll of when she was a child. A little outside of her clan’s camp, staring up at the bottom of the trees’ crowns, the way the light broke through the green and yellow leaves, turning, spinning, spinning on the spot until the individual pieces of what she saw blended together and she got sick. 

What could she possibly say?

“Of course, Lady Montilyet. You have nothing to worry about, I didn’t mind. I’m glad to see you’re doing better now.” _If you need someone to talk to, my door is always open, Josephine._  

Josephine nodded, then hesitated. 

“There is another matter at hand that I would like to discuss with you, Your Worship. A favor as it were. Regarding Leliana.”

Amaryll tried to suppress any surprise in her face. “Yes?”

Josephine’s lips opened, closed. Opened. “I would like to contact the Hero of Ferelden on her behalf. Leliana, she… seems reluctant to let her love know of the end of the Inquisition. I fear she is standing in the way of her own happiness. And so I would like to contact the Hero and let her know, that- that-”

Creators. Amaryll didn’t think that the ambassador had properly thought this one through. She heavily doubted that Leliana would appreciate this intrusion into her love life, and especially if she knew Amaryll was involved in this. 

“There might be a good reason that Leliana has not contacted the Hero just yet,” she suggested carefully.

Josephine kept her silence for a moment, and her eyelashes fluttered.

“We don’t know their relationship,” Amaryll added after waiting a little while. “Meddling in it may not be the best idea. It’s possible we would do more damage than good.”

The ambassador's facial expression changed so suddenly that it startled the other woman.

“Leliana thinks herself a ghost,” she said firmly. “That she can see everyone and interpret their behaviors, but that she herself is elusive. That is not so. I know her well, even if she never considers it. _I know_ she loves the Hero of Ferelden, and _I know_ that she is scared to get in touch with her.  She fears the Hero might not feel the same about her after learning of how different she has become, but Leliana is still Leliana. I knew her then and I know her now. There is still some of her old self tucked away inside of her. And if the Hero doesn’t see it, then she’s- then she’s-” A hue of redness appeared on her golden complexion. “Then she is not as smart as everyone says she is,” she finished forcefully, looking slightly embarrassed. 

“And then it’s better Leliana knows sooner than later,” Amaryll continued gently. “And if Leliana is wrong, and the Hero still loves her the same, then it is better for her to start her new life with her in it.”

Neither of the women spoke. They just looked at each other from across the room, silently. Josephine had a look on her face… as if she was fighting something. She flexed her fingers, slightly raised her tense shoulders, let them drop. And Amaryll suddenly remembered that she ought to breathe She tried to communicate a silent apology to the other woman without having to breach the topic that was hanging in the air.

“I will be able to look through Leliana’s records of all correspondences the Inquisition has had, and maybe find a hint as to what middleman she has used to contact the Hero,” Josephine dropped into the room. “All I need is your permission to use the Inquisition seal and resources, Your Worship.”

“You have permission. And I would gladly lend my time to be the messenger, if you are unsure that one of the Inquisition might warn Leliana.”

Josephine nodded, looking relieved, and then took a step backwards, then another. “Good night, Inquisitor.” She turned around to leave and walked down the first few steps before she remembered something. “Oh, Your Worship? I think I found a suitable cabin for you. We are as of now in negotiations over it. As soon as things are settled, I shall let you know and send a detailed descriptions in a few days.”

“Thank you, Jo- ah. Lady Ambassador. I appreciate your efforts, and your discretion in this. I hope you will be able to rest well tonight.”

“Thank you, Your Worship.”

And then she was gone, and Amaryll felt empty again. 

 


	10. I knew that something would always rule me

_Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless, hopeless,_ he thought. 

 _Helpless, helpless, helpless_ , it echoed back to him. 

He couldn’t handle it anymore, couldn’t stand it. 

Cullen knew that there had been a time when it was better, when there wasn’t a silent enemy raging through his body. But that memory rang hollow when he was laying in his bed, sweat-soaked and freezing, shaking, after his attempted afternoon nap. Rest wouldn’t come. Not last night, not just now, and likely not later.

This was one of the worst spells of sickness in a while. Not only in intensity, but in duration. Usually, he could rely on the bad days to be limited to one, up to three, and then the one following it would be more bearable. But this time, after the third night, he awoke knowing he was in trouble.

At first Cullen had grit his teeth and hoped this would last for only one additional day. He had hoped for the same the following morning. And the one after that. And the one following that one. By that point, he thought it might never end.

This had been weeks ago. Since then, every hour of every day, and every hour of every night had been a struggle.

Cullen was both grateful and desperately angry that the end of the Inquisition meant less work for him. On one hand, his body and mind ran at limited capacities. There was no way for him to take on more responsibilities or tasks beyond the most basic ones. Not without cracking. But on the other hand it also resulted in little distraction from the splitting headaches; the dull, radiating pains in different areas of his back; the cramping, and the tremors in his arms and legs. His thoughts kept wandering to different remedies, of which the allowed ones were useless and the useful ones were forbidden. 

The worst part of it was how familiar it all felt. As though he had never made the progress that he had permitted himself to be so proud of. As though, by a cruel joke, he had been set back years to the point where he had only just started to try and better himself. 

There was no hope. No recovery, Cullen thought. How could he encourage others to take his path to free themselves of the Chantry, and promise betterment, when he himself was a small, tiny pile of misery. A disgrace.

The commander moaned and turned onto his side in an attempt to relieve his back’s screaming. It worked, for just a second. It felt better. Until it didn’t anymore, and he tried to understand if this level of pain was more tolerable or less tolerable than the previous one. 

This pondering did not occupy his thoughts for long, however. The turning had set off a bout of nausea, and so he reached for the empty tankard by his bed. Another groan, this time out of frustration. Emptiness in his stomach meant that there was nothing to leave it, either. Which had him realize that he hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday. Precisely because he thought he’d be able to curb the nausea by not giving his stomach anything to upset it. _He_ _regretted this decision now._

_Helpless, helpless, helpless. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless._

The mabari whined from below, high and long. Whether it was because he felt his owner’s misery and sympathized, or because he needed to lift a leg, Cullen couldn’t tell. He wanted to let his new companion out. It was late in the day now, and it looked like Cullen was unable to do anything to entertain to dog. He ought to let him out, roam around. He really ought to. He just didn’t know how he would manage that if he could barely roll over without getting dizzy.

As if sent by the Maker, there was a knock on the door, and Cullen could hear the blunt claws of the mabari scrape over the stone floor as he hurried towards it. The commander should have been displeased that the visitor dared enter without waiting for an invitation, but he was too tired. Too tired, and too relieved to hear the as of yet nameless dog yip in excitement at the new person to entertain and scratch his enormous head. The visitor spoke to him in a low voice, and at first Cullen wasn’t sure he recognized it. Only when the dog eventually ran out of the stuffy tower and the visitor raised her voice did he realize who’d made her way here. 

“Cullen?”

“Up here,” he replied and twitched at how ragged those words came out of his mouth.

“May I come up?”

He hesitated. 

“I am not… decent.”

“Oh.” Cassandra fell silent for a moment, then cleared her throat. “I just came across the Inquisitor who claimed you had missed another war council.”

Cullen groaned. As slow as he possibly could, he pushed his legs forward, over the edge of his bed. After having accomplished this, he propped himself up onto his lower arm, and finally up into a seated position.

Everything went black for a moment. 

“Cullen?” Cassandra’s shout made her voice sound deeper than it usually did, and it was tinted with worry.

“A moment,” the Commander of the Inquisition called out. 

He wasn’t sure what’d caused the woman’s concern. It might’ve been simply that his reply had taken too long, or that he had unintentionally made a pained noise during his short period of unconsciousness. Either way he was still sitting up. But he did not dare reach for his boots, and so he would have to receive the Seeker in his dirty smalls. 

“You can come up.”

Cassandra immediately took to work. He was slightly envious of how fast she reached the top - nowadays it took him at least twice as long.

He straightened his back (which hurt), but by the quick dilation of Cassandra’s eyelids he knew that she saw the truth of the situation. This woman had no poker face. But neither did he, according to Josephine and Varric, so there was that.

When she finally stood tall before him, neither of them had words. It was clear why Cullen had been unable to attend the war council, and it was clear why few people had seen him around Skyhold lately. If Cullen were the humorous type, he might have had a joke on his lips. If Cassandra were, she would have had an icebreaker. But as it were, they just shared a room face to face, thinking the same thing. 

“Perhaps the healers could-”

“They can’t.”

Cassandra drew in her eyebrows. Whether it was out of frustration with his stubbornness, or because she was contemplating other solutions was unclear. 

“Lady Josephine might-”

“That would not help me now.”

“Well, what would?” Cassandra asked, more into the general room than at him.

Cullen sighed, his shoulders dropped forward.

“I don’t know,” he breathed. Suppressing the growing despair that tried to creep into his voice. “It has been… too long. It is not getting better. I’m at my wits’ end. I cannot eat, and I cannot go hungry. I cannot stay upright, but laying down pains me as well.” Tears pricked in his eyes, and his cheeks twitched in the effort to keep composure, to show stoicism. He failed. He failed at everything he ever tried, and he was too exhausted to feel shame at showing his weakness. “Cassandra… I think I’m dying. I can’t stand it, not for another minute. It is killing me-”

_Pathetic._

Cullen buried his face in his hands. Hot breath wet against his palms. Real and tangible,  it kept him in the Here and Now. It was so easy to slip, he felt. 

_Pathetic._

But there was also something else. Gloved hands gently pressing on his knees. He dropped his arms and saw Cassandra kneeling in front of him, looking up with genuine concern and empathy. It all the more made him feel like crying. 

“Cullen. I am sorry that you are going through this. It, too, shall end, Maker willing. There have been harder things that you have come out of, and this is no different.”

“I was a stronger man then.”

“You are strong _now_. Right in this moment, you are being strong. Do not give up on yourself. Andraste watches over you.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he whispered.

The Seeker fell quiet once again. Faith was not easily debated, at least not by her. The Venerable Sisters and Mothers that kept taking residence in Skyhold would have uplifting words, phrases and promises. Cassandra on the other hand simply felt things in her gut. The intensity in her emotions as she thought in silence was tangible, and he could feel how fiercely she wanted to transfer some of her Faith onto him to make up for what he was missing. 

A deep sadness took hold of him in that moment. He was so close to what he had had a few weeks ago. It was close enough to touch, radiating off the Seeker. But it was like standing next to a fireplace when you’d just walked in the snow. The cliff between those two things felt unsurmountable.  

“You will not die,” Cassandra finally said forcefully. “You _will_ not. You have not lived this long to give up. If you will not hold on for anything else, then do it for spite. This will pass. And you will be better for it. You have not survived all you did to go to the Maker’s side now. He is not done with you yet. I know it. And you will, too.”

Cullen closed his eyes, breathed. Then laid his hand on Cassandra’s. For the first time in days, he felt calm. She was right. This would find an end either way. He just had to let it happen.

When he opened his eyes, Cassandra was still looking at him. And so he offered her a small smile, which she returned. Now certain that he felt a little better, she rose to her feet.

“I will have the kitchen send you some stew. And pray at the chapel. Join me there later if you are able. It would do you well to leave this room for a while, my friend.”

“I will do my best.”

Cassandra nodded, then turned to descend the latter, when a thought struck the Commander.

“Did the Inquisitor say what the war council discussed?”

Cassandra paused. The expression on her face changed from relaxed to slightly tense. A small wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows, which indicated disapproval.

“The Inquisitor asked me to let you know that she will not be available for the coming week. She is leaving Skyhold for… some time on her own.”

Cullen shifted his position, which his back immediately punished him for. It was like being stabbed in four highly sensitive spots at once, and the pain travelled. Shivers went up the man’s spine, and a slight tingling through his extremities.

“Is that- is that wise?” he asked, thinking of her disability.

“No, it is not,” Cassandra spit. “Which is perhaps why she decided to have Rainier accompany her.”

“Rainier?”

He processed the contradiction for a second, along with Cassandra’s obvious bitterness.

“I’m sure her Worship didn’t mean it as an insult to you,” Cullen said in a soothing tone. “She might have thought you too busy with your current task-”

“Do not speak to me like I am a child,” she interrupted. 

Cassandra stared back at him stubbornly, but after a moment averted her gaze. 

“Her oversight is her loss,” Cullen finally amended. “I am certain that she will regret it. There is no doubt that you are the more capable warrior between you two.”

“That is not true.” Her harsh tone however did nothing to mask the pink that spread on her cheeks and nose.

Cullen smiled gently, which caused the Seeker to press her lips together in what seemed like disapproval. 

“You just… you just take care of yourself. Maker watch over you, my friend,” she pressed out and resumed her climb downwards. As soon as he heard her boots hit the stone floor, there was another, lower sound. Had he not paid attention, he might have missed it. “Thank you.”

The smile on Cullen’s face broadened.

He had always wondered how some people, like Varric, like Lavellan, had gone through their time in the Inquisition with forming so many connections. Cullen himself always felt like he was a little bit afloat. Always working, or keeping away so as to not taint other people with his misery. Even on his best days. 

But Cassandra… he was proud to be on such good terms with her Proud that he had been able to maintain the friendship, and proud that Cassandra felt him worthy of calling him a friend. She may not always be able to understand his jumbled emotions and struggles, but she understood hardship, endurance, and Faith. She was an anchor of certainty to the people who were thrashed around by storms. 

Cullen would miss her the most when it was going to be time to leave Skyhold for good, of that he was sure.


	11. Just as it was

_ Your Most Honorable Lord Viscount Tethras,  _

 

_ Skyhold misses you dearly, and so do I.  _

 

_ I wanted to thank you again for the generous gifts you have made me the last time we saw each other. I know you are not comfortable with shows of emotion, but I do want to get one thing off my chest:  _

 

_ This means more to me than I could ever explain. Being Dalish, home was always where my loved ones were. Not a place to stay. Even Skyhold I had to leave more times than I’m sure either of us would care to count.  _

 

_ So to be offered my own estate… a place that someone who cared about me picked to be my home... It is overwhelming. I am fortunate that home, in the future, might become both: a place to stay, and a place where I am close to my loved ones. Or at least one loved one (that person being you. Are you crying yet?). _

 

_ You are one of the most thoughtful people that I have ever had the pleasure to call my friend. I am incredibly lucky to have you look out for me, even (and especially) when I wasn’t able to do that for myself.  _

 

_ Our goodbye was brief and stiff, I regret that. I wish I could have told you this in person. Like you would say: that shit at the Winter Palace was weird. Here’s to calmer, more peaceful times where things make sense.  _

 

_ Though the way I know you, you might have already picked up another hero-to-be that will drag you into messy adventures. Just be sure it’s someone who isn’t going to go up against Qunari again. I think you have seen more Qunari in your time than, well. Other Qunari, I suppose. _

 

_ Know that I cherish you, and that I am looking forward to seeing you again soon. Wrapping things up here will be taking about a month longer than expected, but then I will certainly be coming to Kirkwall before visiting my clan. _

 

_ Take care of yourself, my friend.  _

 

_ Amaryll _

  
  
  
  


 

Amaryll and Rainier’s horses were patiently trodding down the road down the Frostback Mountains. Road might’ve been too generous a word, it was closer to an icy dirt path. Luckily, however, it was littered with little stones that prevented the Fereldan horses from slipping and injuring themselves. Still, all of them were cautiously quiet for as long as it took to reach the mountain’s foot; the only sounds were those of the crunching of hooves meeting stone, and strong winds racing between the raised structures. 

“Oh, finally,” Amaryll sighed into the wool scarf she’d wrapped around her head as protection against the winds. Trusting of her horse, she let go of the reigns and started loosening the fabric. The first trees appeared in the canyon below them. “I swear I am never happier to see trees than I am when we come down this road,” she said, now that her mouth was no longer obstructed.

“Eh,” Rainier replied, muffled by his helmet. “I still think it’s better seeing woods when we’ve been trekking through the damned desert for weeks on end.”

“Mhm. That one’s right up there, too. I’m guessing you’ll keep clear of the Western Approach and Hissing Wastes once you’ll leave?”

Amaryll gave him a smile that held a hint of teasing; he never turned his head to see it, and so she dropped it when she saw the warrior shift uncomfortably in his saddle. Maybe it was just the memory of the unlucky experiences he’d had there, but she sensed a change in mood. Something like… concern?

“You’re damned right I will,” he replied after a short hesitation and finally met her eye. All but his eyes and brow was covered, but there was enough warmth in his gaze to put Amaryll at ease again. “Say, have you spent some more time thinking on what you’ll do once… once the Inquisition ends?”

The Inquisitor nodded. “I’ve got a plan. Or at least for the next few weeks. I will be going to back to the Free Marches. Stay in Kirkwall for a little while, then visit my clan. And after, who knows? Maybe I’ll be neck deep in some sort of trouble again. I hear Kirkwall and trouble go together like the Storm Coast and wet firewood.”

Rainier chuckled. “Then I wager you’ll fit right in.”

“Probably,” Amaryll grinned and redirected her gaze forwards. The road ahead was growing more flat with each passing step, the air around them a bit warmer, more fragrant. By the scent she could tell that it must’ve rained down in the valley not two days ago, and a wistful mood grabbed hold of her. “Though I’m not sure what I’d be doing there. With the estate Varric granted me, I’m now technically a comtesse. Josephine offered to file a petition to elevate me to nobility. Even with all that’s happened at the Exalted Council she believes that Orlais still holds the Inquisition in some regard.”

Rainier let out a grunt of ambiguous approval. “Why not skip a few steps and make you queen?” 

Amaryll snorted at his dry joke. “And what a queen I would make. I’d rather fight another dragon.” When she continued, her voice turned a bit more solemn again. “I declined. I… wouldn’t want to inconvenience Josephine more than necessary. Besides, I like Orlais, but I think I’ve got enough of Orlesian politics for a while. A lifetime.”

“She’s got some pretty corners,” Rainier agreed warmly. 

“Orlais or Josephine?” The woman shot within a heartbeat, grinning broadly at the mild disapproval Rainier beamed at her. 

Teasing him about his affection for the ambassador, especially when it was putting less than innocent words about her in his mouth, was not something he took to kindly. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun every once in a while. 

“Remember the first time we went to the Emerald Graves?” Amaryll asked as a way to drop the joke, and Rainier immediately forgave her the little stab.

“How could I forget. The trees…”

“The smell of moss,” she added.

“How bright all the colors were. Felt like it would burn your eyes right outta your skull with the way the sunlight was shining through the leaves.”

“The chittering of nugs and birds. And the halla everywhere.”

“The statues and fallen fortresses,” Rainier finished.

Rocking up and down on their horses, helmed or not, they smiled at each other for a little while. A slow, genuine, blissful smile. It didn’t last, however, and they returned their gazes back on what was ahead. Amaryll took lead in the curve that was coming up. Once they were both more or less on a similar height again (not truly, since Amaryll was tiny by every standard except from Dwarven), she took it as an opportunity to share some news. 

“Speaking of Josephine, there’s some changes. Her and Leliana requested that we push the Inquisition’s disbanding back by a month. Looks like we’re not going anywhere just yet.”

Again, with the discomfort. By now Amaryll was becoming uneasy with the warrior’s helmet. Rainier had been looking at her, but at her last sentence she noticed his eyes growing wider, him gripping his broad, gloved hand tighter around the reins and then averting his gaze. Hiding his thoughts.

What in  the void’s name was that?

There was something he was thinking, but not saying. Something she would not like to hear. Did she do something wrong? 

“How come?” Rainier interrupted her racing mind.

The Inquisitor shoved her scattered composure back into one piece. Her voice sounded ineffectual and light, in spite of the sense of danger that was lurking in her thoughts.

“Well, Cullen, I think, is mostly done with everything. The Inquisition’s forces aren’t much to speak of anymore. But Leliana is still training her replacements, and Josephine still has unfinished business. There are promises that need to be kept still. Two months is not enough to dismantle a large organization, apparently. I wasn’t exactly in the right state to make a big decision like that after Halamshiral.”

Something in Rainier’s demeanor perked up. 

“Do you regret the decision you made?” he asked. 

The decis- Amaryll almost fell off her horse.“Elgar’nan, no! No, I just couldn’t rightly judge how long it would take to do this. That’s what I meant.” Her breath got caught in her throat for a second. “Why? Do you think I made a mistake?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But?” she drilled.

“Jus’ asking.”

Amaryll had no reply to that brush-off, so she simply scrutinized his profile as they rode on. This was not in character for the man who usually spoke his mind regardless of hurt feelings.

“You’re concerned,” she proclaimed after a while. “You looked at me that way when you insisted on coming with, and again earlier. What is it you’re not telling me?”

Rainier’s shoulders had slacked a bit, the same they did with everyone who stayed in the same position for a few minutes. When hearing the Inquisitor’s pointed question, he straightened his back, however. 

“I was hoping to tell you this when we made camp-”

“Tell me now.”   
Annoyed at being pushed, the soldier threw her a look so dark that Amaryll sucked her cheeks in, but she held his gaze with trained determination.

“I’m already seated,” she said drily. “How bad can it be?”

Rainier held his tongue at the veiled stab she’d made at his previous big secret. He said nothing else for a while. Perhaps to let her stew a bit for having been harsh, or perhaps because this wasn’t easy for him. This time, Amaryll let him be. 

They rode on, side by side, now having reached the valley.

“I…”

Rainier stopped. His voice was solemn and dark in a way that conjured pictures from a time when Amaryll knew him by another name. When he was closed off and serious at all times. When every words that he let out of his mouth was deep and carried sadness. He hadn’t sounded like that in a long while, and now it made frost gather in Amaryll’s bones. Feeling the stiffness in his rider’s posture, the horse now started walking more irregularly. 

“I was thinking of leaving Skyhold this coming week,” he finally said. 

“Oh?”

“I didn’t know the Inquisition would go on for another month-”

The meaning dawned on Amaryll, and she unwillingly halted her horse. It took Rainier a few seconds until he noticed and turned his as well.

“Oh,” Amaryll repeated.

It was foolish. Foolish, to feel an abyss open in her mind. Of course he would eventually leave, they all would. Where had she gotten off just assuming Rainier would stay until the very end, waving her goodbye with a white laced kerchief in his hand as she rode out of Skyhold’s gates into an uncertain future? What a stupid, stupid thought. 

She had asked him a few times what he would like to do after his time with the Inquisition, and had always gotten a vague answer that mirrored hers. Travelling, helping people. For all the lack of specificity, Amaryll had just assumed that he would stay until the end, would follow her steps until then as he had in the past two and a half years. 

_ Stupid, silly woman _ . 

“So suddenly?” How she managed to wring those words out of herself, she didn’t know. Was her voice breaking? It felt like it might.

Whatever roughness there had been in Thom Rainier’s demeanor earlier was gone now. He steered his horse closer to hers, and perhaps it was that she seemed so obviously upset that caused his face to take on the softness it did. Softness in his blue eyes, his brows, his cheeks. She’d always loved the compassion he had. 

“I thought of staying,” he began explaining. “But I want to remember the Inquisition the way it was, not the way it’s ending.”

“It’s changing.”

“That it is. All of the Orlesian nobles smugly talking about the end of the Inquisition. And all of the Chantry folk chanting and preaching at all hours of the day, in every corner of Skyhold. It’s not what you- what all of us made it, back in the day. I don’t like seeing it plucked apart and examined for its best parts like a corpse. Did you hear that they will be building a statue of you and Andraste side by side in the upper courtyard?”

“What?” Amaryll shouted and stretched her legs, lifting herself off the saddle for a moment. “I never asked them to!”

“I guessed as much, my lady. But they are. The Inquisition used to be a Haven for people who wanted to help and had nowhere else to go. All help was welcome, no matter how small the person giving it. Now, nobles and Divine Victoria are turning it into a snake pit filled with gold. I would leave remembering the Inquisition’s legacy, rather than its pitiful end.”

It was like a hit to the head. Amaryll tucked in her chin, looked down on her horses back and pressed her heels to its sides to ride on. Past him. 

“Inquisitor-”

_ Pitiful _ . 

He hadn’t meant it that way. She knew it. Knew that word had not been directed at her. But did not feel it. 

_ Foolish to be hurt. Stupid. Pitiful Herald. _

“My lady-”

Amaryll pretended that the fast-paced clacking of hooves on stone drowned out her friend’s appeal. She needed to regain her composure, and fast. It was easier when she was surrounded by people she didn’t care about, listening to veiled insults that could not touch her. This had caught her off guard.

When Rainier pulled up to her she saw that he’d removed his helped and placed it on the saddle’s horn. 

“Amaryll.” 

It was not a plea. Not the beginning of something he was about to say, not the last word of something already said. It was him asking her to speak, to say anything. Reassurance and affection laid in the many wrinkles of his face.

Her lips parted, closed. Parted. 

“I understand,” she finally said, softly. 

“I can stay, should you require me,” Rainier offered.

Amaryll gave him a smile that was both mocking and genuine.

“No,” she said with insistence. “I heard you. And I understand. You have given the Inquisition more blood and time than most. You deserve to choose when you leave, Thom. After this last mission you will be relieved from service.” 

She pressed her lips together, looking at Rainier, and he looked back at her. Silently, as if he were waiting for something more, and her smile from earlier returned, broader and brighter.

“As the Inquisitor I want to congratulate you on and thank you for your years of service with us. You have helped to shape the world into what it is now, for better or worse. Through Mage-Templar conflicts, corrupted Wardens, demons, darkspawn and Qunari. You have been a voice for compassion and diplomacy when a situation allowed it, and you pressed for action when it was necessary.”

This time it was Rainier who unwittingly stopped his horse. He stared at Amaryll, clear-eyed and solemn, as she halted and turned similar to the way he had earlier. 

“As the Inquisitor,” Amaryll continued, “I couldn’t have wished for a better man to watch my back. As a friend, I can say that I value you above all others. I never expected us to become as close as we did. But I am glad for it. You have my loyalty, Thom. Always.”

Silence held its own between them. A minute passed, then another.

“Thom?” Amaryll asked uncomfortably. 

It was almost as if he’d left his own body for a little while. But Rainier returned, and his lips twisted in a way that Amaryll couldn’t read.

“It was an honor, Inquisitor,” he finally said, his voice grave as ever. But to Amaryll’s relief, with none of the darkness. The smile he gifted her was as warm as could be. “You are a formidable leader and woman.”

Perhaps there were better ways to react to such a statement, but Amaryll’s way was to snort.

“Am I now?” she said, mocking herself more than anything else, and guided her horse to continue on their original path.

“To me you are.”

Rainier urged his horse to walk and he ended up overtaking the Inquisitor, who was sitting there speechless, for once. Her own steed was getting restless from the incessant stopping and starting. It lifted its front leg, first the one, then the other in anticipation of a command before it would decide that its rider was not taking the lead anymore.

“Shall we ride on?” Rainier suggested lightly over his shoulder, and Amaryll regained her senses. Or at least some of them.

They rode next to each other in silence again, as if the heavy moment had depleted all the words they’d saved for each other on their way down to the valley. They had finally more or less left the Frostbacks behind. It had taken almost a full day of stern travel, but they were officially on Fereldan ground and in an area where making up camp would be easier. There was no longer a rush, nor the necessity to be focused. Yet still the two did not talk for a long time, and simply spent time being present with one another. At least until Amaryll had a thought she felt worth sharing.

“Is there anything you need?” she asked out of nowhere.

“Aside from a tavern and a hot soup, you mean?”

Amaryll pulled a grimace at him, since he knew full well that there was no village nearby and they would have to spend their night in their respective tents.

“No, I mean- a new blade? An upgrade for your shield or armor?” she persisted.

Rainier furrowed his brows at her.    
“The ones you had crafted for us at the Winter Palace are excellent. What brought this on?”

Amaryll pressed her left lower arm onto her thigh, fumbled with the reins in her right hand. 

“I won’t have the same access to the resources I do now for much longer,” she explained, looking forward. “If you need anything… well. Best to make use of it now. There’s not much else I could give when you go your way.”

She pulled up one corner of her mouth when she met his eyes, and Rainier understood.

“It’s not your wealth I like about you, my lady,” he said warmly. “A kind word when we part would be enough for me.”

Amaryll pushed the hint of a resigned chuckle out of her mouth. This was the second time today that he had left her feeling flustered, and that was not something she was used to. She wondered how and why the man had so suddenly picked up tone and charm from way back in Haven when they’d both barely known one other. It had been easy to flirt, back then. There had been compliments and teasing, but was before… before Haven was buried. Before she accepted her position. Ever since then, those things had entirely ceased from his side. Probably out of a sense of propriety and duty.

“You can’t keep saying these things, Rainier. I won’t know what to do with myself,” she admonished him half in jest.

“I suppose that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

He playfully picked up speed and threw her a long look as he rode past, his deep-set eyes surrounded by laugh lines. In the meantime, Amaryll was hanging back, and a thin veil of rose laid down across her cheeks and high nose. 

She wasn’t sure what was going on with Rainier, but she knew she didn’t mind it. 

  
  



End file.
